


My Yakuza Boyfriend

by decaf_kitty



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police & Yakuza, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, BAMF Umino Iruka, M/M, Protective Hatake Kakashi, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2019-11-13 17:36:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 46,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decaf_kitty/pseuds/decaf_kitty
Summary: Kakashi Hatake is a disgraced cop with no options left.So he joins the local yakuza family.His boss, Iruka Umino, is beautiful and dangerous.Of course, Kakashi falls in love with him the instant they meet.{Note: On hiatus until Fall/Winter 2019.}





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I credit/blame the "Saezuru Tori wa Habatakanai" manga series for making me think about writing a Kakashi/Iruka yakuza AU.
> 
> Also, I credit/blame certain folks on Twitter for encouraging this to be a multi-chapter story with an Explicit Rating. You know who you are. Thank you for your support, you darling wonderstars.
> 
>  
> 
> ______

It was love at first sight.

Minutes earlier, Kakashi had been considering walking straight into traffic instead of joining the local yakuza family.

But then he met his boss for the first time.

With his dark eyes downcast and dark hair tightly tied back, Iruka Umino emanated lazy danger. A prominent scar slid across his brown-skinned cheeks. He wore a sleek suit clearly custom tailored to his body. Holding a lit cigarette between his fingers, fit into fine black leather gloves, Iruka was looking not towards Kakashi nor the newly open door – but instead down at his feet as he stood behind his large mahogany desk. He wasn’t smiling; his entire countenance was of intense disapproval.

Finally, after a few seconds, Iruka noticed the entrance of another individual into his office…

… and his expression shifted so swiftly that Kakashi wished his vision wasn’t so fucked up so he could have fully seen it happen.

Even with his mangled gaze, Kakashi saw the yakuza boss transform from a state of deep displeasure to one of true and genuine interest.

_All in an instant._

Looking right at Kakashi, Iruka declared with real warmth in his voice. “Oh, good, my new bodyguard, you’re here.” He smiled like they knew each other, as if they had been childhood friends and were just now meeting again after too many years apart. It was so unsettling that Kakashi questioned for a single sharp moment if he _had_ actually met Iruka before.

But, no, Kakashi had been a policeman for the last seven years, his first and only job since high school graduation, and he had very little interaction with yakuza in or out of uniform.

And, without a doubt, Iruka was yakuza.

He absolutely looked like one, although he seemed a bit young to be running things. Iruka had slicked-back hair and the fine cunning looks of a predator; his sharp suit was so terribly custom-made for him that it looked like he had a beautiful grey-hued skin. He held his cigarette with loose confidence, as if it was a natural extension of his hand.

So very bewilderingly, his expression was pure pleasure at seeing Kakashi in his office. 

Smiling directly at him, Iruka gestured with his free hand. “Come in, close the door.”

As Kakashi did so, his movements strangely unsteady, a pained groan came from somewhere behind Iruka’s wooden desk. 

Kakashi glanced down and then back up towards the other man; he was unsettled to see the yakuza hadn’t changed his expression whatsoever hearing the sound of agony at his feet. 

Instead, Iruka’s smile went a bit wider, and he informed Kakashi with easy serenity, seeming absolutely at peace with himself and his yakuza lifestyle: 

“An assassin recently stabbed me in the back, and I’m hoping you can make sure that doesn’t happen again. Do you think you can help me out?”

Iruka sounded so unexpectedly like he was an old friend asking for a simple small favor that Kakashi found himself nodding straightaway, his face going more serious, his body instinctively straightening at the assigned task.

Seeing his immediate affirmative response, Iruka grew even more delighted with Kakashi: he looked like he had just been handed his favorite treat by a schoolyard crush. His eyes crinkled at the edges, his lips went into a pleased cat-like smile. “Wonderful, thank you,” Iruka practically purred, never taking his eyes off of Kakashi. 

Then he brought up his leg – and kicked with incredible strength something behind his desk – which Kakashi instantly realized was a barely conscious man sprawled on the floor.

Before Kakashi could step forward, Iruka dropped down into a crouch, staying halfway visible to him. The young yakuza took a short drag of his cigarette, blowing out dark smoke over his shoulder, and then said down to the man with sudden steeliness, “I told you not to sell drugs by the school, and you couldn’t even obey my order for a single week.” 

Shaking his head and pursing his lips, Iruka looked like a disappointed father, except that he was radiating absolute murder in his stance. “If you enjoy being hurt, Kato-san, you just need to tell me, and I’ll make you cry all night long, you sweet stupid thing.”

Forcing a blush down and off his face, Kakashi felt himself blink in surprise. He thought for a second that maybe he misheard the yakuza, who currently looked barely restrained in his fury. Surely Iruka Umino had not just propositioned his disobedient subordinate just seconds after kicking him? Was he just being cruel? Homophobic and cruel? Iruka couldn’t be gay, yakuza weren’t gay. They were known for womanizing, for visiting prostitutes, for owning brothels.

So Iruka was being cruel because he knew the man was gay?

_Shit, yakuza are merciless._

Iruka shrugged nonchalantly while looking down at what Kakashi imagined was the man’s bloodied face. He continued with tight-voiced calm, “But, seeing as you’re such a mess right now, I think you simply made a mistake, and you truly regret it, and you’re never going to do it again. Am I right?”

The mostly hidden man made a whimpered comment that Kakashi couldn’t make out.

Apparently Iruka couldn’t understand him either, because the yakuza’s face darkened in a flash, and then he was scolding the other man, his tone becoming markedly louder, sounding like a horribly frustrated teacher reprimanding a mouthy kid:

“Kato-san, you either be clear with your apology, or my new bodyguard will spend the night scrubbing your blood off my shoes. _Speak up._ ”

And he instantly got an uncomfortably loud response:

“I apologize, Boss-sama! I BEG YOUR FORGIVENESS!” 

After his sudden exclamation, the man fell into a choked fit of crying.

Still crouched over the man, Iruka’s face went warm with relief. “Oh, Kato-san. Please don’t ever disappoint me again. Your mother would be so sad to attend your funeral, even if you are only her third son. She really loves you, you know.” He reached over and apparently patted the man somewhere – maybe on the head? was Iruka actually patting the drug dealer’s hair? the same man who he was threatening, who he had obviously beaten the shit out of?

_How terrifying…_

Standing up with languid ease, Iruka took another draw of his cigarette and turned to look over at Kakashi again. The unusual childhood-friend-smile instantly returned to his face. 

_Absolutely fucking terrifying. It’s like he’s on a switch._

Kakashi received his first order in the form of a sweetly-worded request, one that was deceptively suggestive of free will. “Hound-san, can you please escort Kato-san out of the building? Either leave him in the street, or get him a taxi, whatever you think he’s worth.”

But Kakashi knew to look underneath the underneath: this was a test, this was his first test.

Iruka stepped aside, clearly letting Kakashi have space to take the drug dealer away, which Kakashi did with an unfamiliar stumble of movement forward. He was relieved that the yakuza was on his right side where he could best see the man, but, as he got his first full look of Kato, he realized that he was entering a truly different field of work than his time on the police force.

Older than Iruka by nearly a decade and dressed far more informally, Kato was actually quite conscious, but his nose was badly broken, tear-streaked blood smeared about his mouth. He was clutching at his ribs where Iruka had kicked him, indicating he had a number of broken bones there as well. Quite appropriately, he was keeping his eyes averted from his displeased boss, but he didn’t look at Kakashi either as he was manhandled up to standing. 

Before Kakashi could draw him away from the desk and Iruka, Kato flinched and started to struggle a little against him, but Kakashi found his broken ribs and pressed down hard, making the other man lose his breath and make a high-pitched pained whine. He wasn’t really interested in hurting the man, but he was certainly not about to be embarrassed in front of his potential employer – his new employer? – within the first five minutes of meeting him.

Plus… Kakashi could feel the weight of Iruka’s stare on his body, on his actions, on his choices.

As he dragged Kato out of the yakuza boss’s office, Kakashi had already made up his mind: he passed the few other subordinates lingering around without looking at them, and he was in the street in record time. Even with his bad eye, the taxis stood out in overly bright yellow, and, even though they definitely knew he was with the yakuza, he managed to get one of them to stop.

Shoving Kato in the back of the car, Kakashi took out his wallet, pushed probably too much money into the driver’s hand, and waved them off without turning back around.

He dropped out of his tense policeman training a moment later, walking up the building’s central staircase with deliberately false laziness. 

The other yakuza eyed him more clearly on his return, but Kakashi kept his eyes ahead at Iruka’s office, which he went to straight towards without a comment towards the others.

He knocked on Iruka’s door, heard a modest “Come in,” and entered, carefully closing the door behind him.

Still standing behind his desk and smoking the very last of his cigarette, Iruka was giving him a truly impressive smile. It somehow combined both the I’m-pleased-to-see-you-old-friend smile and the I’m-so-happy-you’ll-kill-people-for-me smile that he’d already given Kakashi in the last ten minutes alone. 

Iruka’s eyes were noticeably brighter than when Kato was in the room. 

Never looking away from Kakashi, Iruka put out his cigarette in a crystal ashtray on his desk. Still smiling, the yakuza remarked in a sly tone, seemingly amused, “You put Kato-san in a taxi. You think he’s worth that kind of care?”

As he worked to keep his stance relaxed and confident, Kakashi gave his answer while returning Iruka’s fond but foreboding stare, “You said his mother loves him.”

Pure danger was taking over Iruka’s stance again. He was like a beautiful panther, and he clearly knew it; he was absolutely ruthless as he walked forward towards Kakashi in an easy, slow stride. 

“Maybe she’s worthless, too, though. Did you ever think of that?” Iruka mused, his dark eyes fixed on Kakashi’s face.

“You called him Kato-san,” Kakashi insisted, trying to keep his voice steady.

He could feel his heart in his throat.

Iruka was still closing the distance between them, all while giving him that dreadfully complicated and threatening smile. “Maybe I’m polite when I’m angry,” the yakuza countered, his voice low, his tone cool. 

“You gave him a second chance,” Kakashi found himself saying, suddenly becoming quiet. He stared with his mutilated vision directly into Iruka’s dark brown eyes; the yakuza was within inches of him, raising a gloved hand towards Kakashi’s face.

Kakashi killed his every instinct – his trained police reflexes, his inherent human nature – as Iruka slowly swept aside the shock of silver hair covering his scar and mostly destroyed eye. He could have looked away from Iruka, but instead Kakashi stared right at him, their heights nearly the same, the other man only a few inches shorter than him. 

The yakuza was looking at his eyes, glancing between them, assessing the damage, taking in Kakashi’s previously hidden reddened left eye.

“You were highly recommended,” Iruka said in a soft, wistful way as he studied Kakashi’s face with barely a few breaths between them. 

“A disgraced cop who killed his partner in friendly fire…”

Kakashi felt his heart slowing down in his chest.

“… his dishonorable father dead by suicide decades ago…”

And then it was skipping a beat. 

“… a survivor of a knife attack by a drug addict…”

Skipping another beat, slamming into a wall of rage, stopping entirely.

But then Iruka’s gloved hand dropped off Kakashi’s face and caught him by the back of the neck. The yakuza pulled him forward so their faces nearly collided, with only Kakashi’s stability saving them from sheer violence.

Not that Iruka seemed to care. He was smiling his satisfied feline smile, staring deep into both of Kakashi’s eyes, the black one and the badly damaged one as well. 

Unlike so many people, Iruka wasn’t avoiding the grotesque sight of Kakashi’s jagged scar through his pale skin, the visible divot into his eyeball, the bright red broken blood vessels, the messy white ghostliness of the once-dark iris. 

Instead – so very clearly – Iruka Umino, young yakuza boss, was glorying in being so close to Kakashi, enjoying Kakashi as he truly was in this very moment, in his bloodiest ugliest state of existence.

“I’m going to kiss you, Hound-san,” Iruka warned him, dark eyes lighting up with dangerous interest, even as he brought them even closer together. But the yakuza’s voice was truly soft and pleading as he whispered, never looking away from Kakashi, “Please never leave my side.”

Like he’d lost his very mind, Kakashi found himself nodding in perfect obedience as Iruka pressed his lips against his own, giving him the gentlest kiss he’d ever had in his long terrible life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time around, I'm going to credit/blame the amazing number of people who subscribed, gave kudos, commented, and bookmarked the first chapter.
> 
> Apparently, y'all really like boss!yakuza Iruka and bodyguard Kakashi! Well... you're in luck, because I do, too.
> 
> Please enjoy, darlings.
> 
>  
> 
> ____

They were going to a brothel.

Standing in his boss’s office, Kakashi watched Iruka check himself in the mirror, somehow not looking vain in the slightest as he smoothed out wrinkles and perfected his slicked back hair. Kakashi was uncomfortable in his new black suit: it was disturbingly well fit to his form, as if Iruka had already known his measurements and had the suit tailor-made just for him. 

He had survived the first few days of being a yakuza bodyguard with remarkable ease. For the most part, Iruka had not ventured far out from their main building or the neighborhood, meaning Kakashi had plenty of time to learn about the other subordinates and his new boss.

There was a whole host of yakuza under Iruka Umino: all of them were men, most of them in their twenties through their forties, nearly half looking like criminals that Kakashi had put away when he was a police officer. Fortunately, he didn’t recognize anyone, but, much to his chagrin, everyone in the yakuza family seemed to already know a few specific things about him.

One: he was an ex-cop. 

Two: he’d been stabbed in the face. 

Three: he was already infatuated with their boss and would do anything for him.

Standing next to him as they waited, the yakuza subordinate named Kotetsu ran a hand through his spiky dark hair and gave Kakashi condescending side-eye. “You look like a pirate,” he said, sounding insulting and entertained at the same time.

Kakashi didn’t respond, he didn’t even look at him. For years he had hidden his scarred eye with his silver-grey hair, a look that he had perfected with his police hat. But, just this morning, when Iruka announced they were visiting his shatei’s brothel _Stray Kitties_ , Iruka had beckoned Kakashi back into his office and then offered him a welcoming present. 

“This is for you,” Iruka had said sweetly, placing a small object in Kakashi’s open hands.

The cloth was soft and silky, but the build was stiff; the whole thing was black, even the string. Although it took him a few moments to recognize what it was, he eventually realized what his new boss had just given him: an eyepatch to cover his scarred eye.

He had flushed right-away, unable to hide his humiliation. 

But Iruka had pulled him close, sliding his hard body against Kakashi’s, his dark eyes smoldering with desire as he stared deeply into Kakashi’s mismatched eyes. 

His whisper was still haunting Kakashi twelve hours later.

“Please let me be selfish, Hound-san. I want to be the only one who sees your beautiful eye.”

Presently, Kotetsu was on his bad side, now his fully blind left side. Since he’d received his injury during his first year as a police officer, Kakashi was more than able to handle navigating the world with only half his sight – or, when he had both eyes open, with his partially messed-up vision. 

Even though the yakuza didn’t really seem to be a threat to Iruka, Kakashi had already considered just how he would shoot Kotetsu in the face without further turning his own head. 

He might miss Kotetsu’s temple if the man was looking directly at him. If that was that case, at this angle, he would be shooting the yakuza between the eyes, which worked just as well.

Interrupting his thoughts, Iruka finally turned around, showing them a truly vicious smile, and proclaimed with deadened cheer, “Let’s go see my dear brother, shall we?”

In the blink of an eye, Kakashi was suddenly in the back seat of a truly stunning luxury vehicle. He had seen it resting idly in the parking garage: shadow-black glossy paint, bright silvery rims, and more than a few illegal modifications. He had tried to hold open the right back door for Iruka, but his boss ignored him entirely and went to the left side, waiting there for Kakashi to come around and open that door instead. It was surprising, and he felt confused - until he slunk into the back seat with the young yakuza and Iruka tossed him a too-friendly smile.

“I can take care of your blind side, Hound-san. I need you on my right.”

The effect was instant and dizzying: Kakashi realized with a start that Iruka intended him to look out for their shared right side, that Iruka wanted to sit in his blind spot on purpose. He felt more than a little flustered at the idea of it, of being vulnerable in that way. After his epiphany, he constantly wanted to look over at Iruka, but he forced his attention outwards, surveying the streets they drove through and scanning the people walking the sidewalks.

But Kakashi kept finding himself trying to glance over at Iruka, a stupidly obvious motion because he had to turn his head to do so.

Iruka didn’t seem to mind, though. He was smiling that low feline smile every time Kakashi tried to sneak a glimpse of him. As he had all week, Iruka appeared dangerous and exquisite: today he wore a dark grey tailored suit and silk black tie with a subtle herringbone design. His facial scar and complexion were in fine style, as was his hair, so much so that Kakashi wondered about the details of Iruka’s morning and nightly rituals in maintaining his good looks. 

In contrast to Kakashi’s scuffed police-duty boots, Iruka’s shoes were antique black Italian leather, sleek and impressive like a bolt-action sniper rifle.

Kakashi only realized that he had turned his head and was staring down at Iruka’s shoes when Iruka leaned towards him so that their shoulders touched, and he noted in a lowered tone, “Yours are better for crushing windpipes.”

He glanced up to see Iruka’s expression, but the yakuza only shifted his hand to the space between them, still gazing down contemplatively at their significantly different shoes.

On instinct, Kakashi moved his fingers just slightly, brushing his pinkie against Iruka’s. 

He promised quietly, “I won’t let blood get on yours.”

Kakashi didn’t need to look up to see that Iruka was very pleased with his comment, because the yakuza boss slid his whole hand over Kakashi’s and squeezed hard. 

His heart did a peculiar little stumble in his chest in response.

Seemingly only a moment later, Kotetsu parked the car, and he and his partner, Izumo, sitting in the front seat, ducked out of the vehicle, going to scout to see if things were safe. Once left alone, Kakashi turned his head even further, hoping to evaluate Iruka’s emotional state before entering the unknown brothel. 

But, much to his surprise, before he could move, Iruka leaned over, pressing his chest into Kakashi’s left shoulder. His lips ghosted against Kakashi’s left ear, his breath warm and intimate. Sounding entirely unfazed, Iruka explained to Kakashi in an easy swift whisper, “This is my shatei’s brothel; he’s my little brother in the Sarutobi family. His name is Mizuki, and he’s the one who sent the assassin to kill me.”

To say that shock suddenly filled every inch of Kakashi would be an understatement.

Yet as Kakashi tried to move so he could actually see Iruka, the yakuza being in his blind spot, Iruka dropped his head down and kissed the sensitive skin above Kakashi’s shirt collar.

The sensation sent shivers up Kakashi’s spine.

And then Iruka forewarned him, truly dark and terrifying:

“There’s going to be blood and sake on my shoes tonight.”

On cue, Kotetsu knocked on Kakashi’s window, instantly leading Kakashi to exit the vehicle and go for Iruka’s door, holding it open without a single coherent thought in his head. 

Instead, he was already thinking about what he was going to do about this brother-yakuza who betrayed Iruka Umino, his boss, his love interest. They were walking through _Stray Kitties_ only seconds later, Kotetsu playing rear-guard and the more mature Izumo leading them through the smoke-filled haze of the brothel. Although Kakashi was still assessing the two yakuza, he could appreciate their obvious devotion and loyalty to Iruka: he watched with interest as Izumo shoved more than one man aside to make sure no one touched his boss. He could hear Kotetsu close behind them on their heels, no longer the lazy loose person that he had been in their own building, but now a man alert and well-aware of a wide variety of threats all around them.

 _Stray Kitties_ had styled itself after a specific kind of Thai brothel. It was a long narrow space, and its major feature was a clear-glass fish-tank filled with almost-entirely-dressed beautiful women sitting together, chatting with each other. There were all sorts of sleazy-looking men sitting in chairs across from the see-through separate room. As Izumo pushed his way towards the back, Kakashi heard over the intercom the brothel manager call for “Number 32” to come out and meet her customer. From the corner of his good right eye, Kakashi saw a pretty but seemingly too-young woman stand up, adjust her skirt, pick up her shoes, and head out of the fish-tank room.

Iruka must have seen her, too, because he slowed his pace for a moment, looking her way, and then he smiled, low and pleased, very much at the woman. Having apparently caught her attention, Iruka rose his hand slightly in the air and waved his fingers at the chosen sex worker. When he looked over, Kakashi was absolutely floored to see the woman smiling back at Iruka with a fresh little blush on her face.

_What the hell._

But, just as quick, Iruka was walking again, and Kakashi kept up, dropping the prostitute from his mind. He didn’t know what that was all about, but now was not the time to think about it.

Instead, right now he was going meet the mysterious Mizuki... Iruka hadn’t said his last name, and he hadn’t used any honorific, either, suggesting all sorts of unpleasant things. If one thing had become apparent over the last week, Iruka Umino was a rather ruthless yakuza - and also unfailingly polite, even to the lowliest delivery boys, who he invariably called “Courier-san.”

As Izumo brought them down a maze of corridors, Kakashi memorized their route. Seeing Izumo continue to walk forward without shying aside, Kakashi also didn’t move out of the way when they passed by customers and sex workers. He did keep track of their faces, their body language, their clothing, the imprint of guns and other weaponry. 

Kakashi noticed that, without fail, Iruka smiled pleasantly at prostitutes. While he never stepped aside for the men, Iruka always stopped for the women, relinquishing a generous amount of space, and gestured like a gentleman for them to pass him in the narrow hallways.

One of Mizuki’s men was waiting at their prearranged meeting room; he spoke into an earpiece as they came closer to him, and he had the door open the very moment that Izumo stopped in front of him. The transition was so fluid that Iruka himself did not pause in his stride, strolling straight into the room, not sparing a single glance towards Mizuki’s posted doorman.

Kakashi certainly looked at the man, though. His own face was cold and empty, and he could see that Mizuki’s subordinate did not like the look of him. But he didn’t linger for long, following Iruka inside along with Izumo, letting Kotetsu stay outside with the other yakuza.

The room was small, softly-lit, with only a low black table and a pair of dark leather couches across from each other. Lounging far too lazily on the right couch was a silver-haired skinny man in an ill-fitting black suit. Exaggeratedly muscular bodyguards stood on his either side; the men were badly disciplined, nearly in scowls, as they observed Iruka sit down on the couch. 

In contrast, Izumo had become the perfect illustration of tranquility. It truly seemed as if the yakuza was thinking about his last visit to the hot springs rather than standing across from the traitorous little brother of his boss. 

Kakashi knew perfectly well what he himself looked like: in a black suit so finely tailored to his lean form, he appeared sleek and sophisticated. However, his combed-back silver hair and black silk eyepatch must have made him exceptionally odd-looking. While he had kept his jacket buttoned, he was quite aware of his shoulder holsters and the guns waiting in both of them. 

As he came to stand in the far-back left corner of the room, keeping Iruka visible on his right side, allowing no one in his blind spot, Kakashi considered each of the bodyguards. He examined the yakuza for weaknesses with a deliberately blank expression on his face.

He wasn’t relaxed, though.

No, not at all.

In actuality, Kakashi was already assessing how to kill four men and get Iruka back to the car.

Fortunately for him, Iruka didn’t need his immediate intervention, acting calm and composed in the face of danger and betrayal. The young yakuza reached for the small cup waiting for him and poured his own sake into it as he announced with seeming sincerity, “It’s good to see you again, Mizuki. I feel like it’s been ages since I last saw you.”

Mizuki was all ugly, smug smirks as he leaned further back into the couch, the leather protesting the movement. He shrugged his shoulders, drawing his head aside and glaring down at Iruka as he took a sip of the offered sake. “I’ve been busy,” he said, tight and haughty. “You wouldn’t know how that is.”

“Oh, you’re right, as usual,” Iruka demurred, far too kind for Kakashi’s taste. The yakuza was resting forward on the couch, staring down at his ceramic cup and the shimmer of liquor. 

But then Iruka’s dark eyes swung up to stare daggers into Mizuki.

“So, how have you been?” he asked with a sudden cold edge to his voice.

Even though he seemed to be an idiot, Mizuki heard the change, and he stiffened, looking instantly uneasy. His bodyguards responded similarly, straightening further, redirecting their full attention to Iruka like Kakashi and Izumo didn’t exist, like they weren’t the real threat.

“I’ve been fine, great even,” Mizuki answered rapidly with rat-like pride. His beady eyes were stuck on Iruka, his body gone tense. “Things have been great here, everything’s been running super well, I barely have to do a thing, the bitches just turn profit non-stop.”

“Don’t they?” Iruka asked rhetorically, his tone flat. The yakuza was surreally still as he stated, slow and drawn-out, staring dead-on at Mizuki, “They must love you.”

“Everyone loves me,” Mizuki ground out, his temper flaring at the barely hidden insult.

“Not me.”

Iruka was standing as he spoke; his gloved hand was tightening on the ceramic sake cup, then he was breaking it in his fist, shards of liquor-soaked ceramic clattering on the floor. In the very same second, he slammed his fine leather shoe into the table, making the sake bottle unstable, causing it fall towards Mizuki, onto him and the floor, breaking into pieces in an instant.

Mizuki was shrieking, undignified and wild; his bodyguards were reaching for their guns.

But Kakashi was already in front of Iruka, his right hand and his Beretta in Mizuki’s face, his left hand and his Glock directed at the better-skilled bodyguard near his blind spot. In the corner of his right eye, he could see Izumo doing the same with the lesser-experienced bodyguard. 

Kakashi was utterly unfeeling in his defense of his boss, of Iruka: he was staring so severely at Mizuki with his good eye that he could see straight through the man, into his sickly skin, past ugly little bones, down to his shriveled piece of shit of a soul. 

He was suddenly thrilled at the thought of killing the man who dared betray Iruka. 

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Mizuki was screaming, frantic and panicked, taking in the sight of Kakashi and both his guns and his black eyepatch and the awful visible parts of his insane scar. “Why does he look like me?!”

Behind him, Kakashi instantly heard Iruka give a harsh hysterical laugh. Without warning, he could feel his yakuza boss partially flush against his backside. Abruptly, Iruka stood up on the table to Kakashi’s right; he was leaning forward towards Mizuki without any sign of care or concern as he used Kakashi as a stable force to keep him steady and hold him back. 

“Are you serious?” Iruka’s laughter was downright cruel, chilling the very air in the room. He was relentless, merciless as he judged Mizuki down to his very core in front of their bodyguards: “He has more muscle than you, he’s got better hair, and he never chokes on my dick like a little bitch, which you did _every single fucking time_ ,” and, before Kakashi could even think about how to restrain Iruka, his boss suddenly slapped Mizuki so hard across the face that the terrific sound reverberated in Kakashi’s ears like a gunshot in close quarters. 

As he stepped down off the table, away from Kakashi’s side, coming to stand behind him, Iruka spat on Mizuki, literally, before he declared, abyssal-black and full of disdain, “You God damn coward.”

Kakashi caught the gaze of the better bodyguard, indicating to him in that way that only combat veterans could that _I will kill you and your partner and the dipshit you call your boss, you need to back off or else_, which was well understood and relayed to Mizuki’s other yakuza with a single negative back-and-forth shake of the head.

Izumo was already opening the door, gesturing for Kotetsu to get moving, and Iruka was going after him, not looking back for a second at the chaos that he had just caused. 

Kakashi followed, walking backwards, both his guns still drawn. He was highly unusual, he knew: most yakuza bodyguards only used one gun, and here he was, more than comfortable with two. He was staring with unreserved warning at Mizuki, who glared at him in return with what the man must have imagined was a frightening look – but Kakashi felt nothing at all, not even pity, instead only wanting to get Iruka out of the area and back home safe.

He was in the doorway, trying to keep Mizuki and both his bodyguards in the sight-line of his good eye, when Kakashi realized that Mizuki’s doorman must have done something very stupid.

Apparently, the man had touched Iruka in some way.

Kakashi only knew that because Iruka went from staring at his jacket sleeve to throat-punching the doorman in a single swift instant. Neither Kotetsu nor Izumo moved to stop him as Iruka then grabbed the lower-ranked yakuza by the hair and seethed straight in his red-mottled face, “You touch me again, and I will castrate you and shove your bleeding dick down your throat.”

Then Iruka dropped the choking doorman to the floor, kicked him once directly in the face with his beautiful Italian shoes, splattering blood across the leather and linoleum, and then almost passed Izumo he was in such a furious rush to leave the brothel. 

Fortunately, however, Izumo was light on his feet and respectful, too, so he orchestrated his movements in such a way to neither offend his boss, nor crowd him, and also get ahead of him. 

Kakashi took his place behind Iruka, unwilling to walk by his side when the real danger was lurking behind them. Although he was beginning to trust Kotetsu in the most nascent stage of a budding relationship, he sure as hell was not going to let Iruka be shot from behind because he didn’t think Mizuki would even further betray his yakuza-brother. 

Somehow they got outside, where Kotetsu and Izumo completed an extraordinary check of the car in the most efficient manner that Kakashi had ever seen. When he recognized after a moment that they were looking for explosives, Kakashi faced with the sinking realization the old American adage: _I’m not in Kansas anymore_. But the car turned out to be fine, and they all got inside, and then they were speeding down the street in total terribly tense silence.

The ride back to their building was about thirty minutes with traffic, and there was plenty of that late Saturday night, so they were each left alone with their thoughts.

Kakashi found himself staring once again at Iruka’s shoes – now sprayed with wet blood and stinking of sake, just as the young yakuza had predicted only minutes earlier. He could feel unnatural rage building within him. He had to fight back the unexpected impulse to return to the brothel. Even as he registered that he was being uncharacteristically irrational and possessive, Kakashi still had the urge to choke the life out of the silver-haired shit who had done such disservice to his boss. 

He must have been making some sort of face, because Iruka patted his knee and said loudly to him as well as his other yakuza subordinates, “Thank you, all of you, for being lovely and perfect. You’re so good under fire, I couldn’t possibly be prouder.”

“You’re always amazing, Boss-sama,” Kotetsu said immediately, but he noticeably didn’t look back at Iruka.

Izumo echoed his partner’s sentiment as he continued to drive without glancing at their boss in the rear-view mirror, “You really showed him, Boss-sama.”

Kakashi turned to study Iruka’s reaction to his underlings’ praise, and he watched with escalating interest as the yakuza boss dropped his head down, looking almost like he was a spoiled kid sulking in the back seat of the luxury car. Still dressed in such refinement, his hair still startlingly immaculate, Iruka crossed his arms over his chest, looking strangely beautiful even while distraught. He gave a slight shrug towards no one, staring sullenly at nothing. His scarred expression was sliding into darkness, retreating into bleak self-reflection, all of which Kakashi observed with increasing surprise. 

“Please take care of my clothes and shoes, Izumo-san,” the yakuza said in an even tone. 

Just as Kakashi was beginning to consider how to best comfort his new boss, Iruka added, turning to look out the window at the dancing neon lights of downtown, “I’m showering with Hound-san then going to sleep. Tell the others to head home. We’ll discuss things in the morning. For now, please leave me alone.”

The other sentences seemed to disappear as Kakashi repeated the first part in his head.

 _I’m showering with Hound-san…_

_Hound-san…_

_… me? he's showering with me? I’m showering with the boss?_

Adrenaline had been slowly fading from his system, but, hearing those few words, it surged back through Kakashi so suddenly that his brain went totally and terrifically blank.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are too kind. Thank you each for reading. 
> 
> Please enjoy, my dearests.
> 
>  
> 
> _____

The taste of Iruka was on his tongue.

Kakashi hadn’t meant to do it, but when the yakuza peeled off his gloves, muttering to himself, “Ugh, I _did_ get cut,” he immediately grabbed Iruka’s hand to examine the wound. The broken ceramic sake cup had lightly sliced Iruka’s skin, but his glove had been applying pressure for the last hour. Without the form-fitting leather, the injury quickly welled with blood and dripped down the sides of Iruka’s finger. 

When the yakuza’s blood spilled onto the pale skin of Kakashi’s hand, he ignored it and instead said quietly, “We should clean this, Boss-sama.”

Without saying a word in response, Iruka stole back his hand and started to undress. 

Lowering his head on instinct, Kakashi glanced down at his newly red-stained fingertips. His brain continued to be blurry and distracted as he drew his fingers to his lips and then, without thinking, slowly licked Iruka’s blood off his skin. He could have pretended he was trying to be efficient, but, the moment that the peculiar pang of iron hit his taste buds, Kakashi knew he was damned, fully and truly damned.

He was being dragged down into sweet sin… and he wasn't putting up any resistance, none at all.

Looking back up, he saw that Iruka had put his sake-splattered suit in the wastebasket and placed his bloodied leather shoes on top. At first Kakashi thought the yakuza was intending on throwing it all away, which would have been a real shame since they had looked so good on him. But he finally realized that Iruka put his dirty clothes in the trash for Izumo to pick up because otherwise they would ruin the floor or chair if placed there. All that blood and sake.

_What a fucking mess._

As he finally came to his senses, Kakashi looked around Iruka’s office – and found his boss long gone. He tried not to feel stupid about losing Iruka in such a small space, but it was late at night, and adrenaline was making him thoughtless. While he still hadn’t explored all of the yakuza’s building, Kakashi had been told about Iruka’s personal living quarters a floor above, accessible through a hidden staircase in the back of his office, and so he walked up the darkened spiral stairs and slipped into the shadow space of his new yakuza boss.

The bedroom wasn’t particularly large, but there were fine antiques everywhere he looked, pieces that screamed wealth and a refined taste for history. From the redwood wardrobe to gold-framed paintings, from stained-glass lamps to the lacquered wooden Buddhist altar, Iruka had curated his private living space with a distinguished eye for exceptional decorations. In the darkness, surrounded by Iruka’s unique and ornate furniture, Kakashi felt ridiculously out of place: his own apartment was sparse and utilitarian without any sense of personalization or pride. 

Kakashi didn’t need to see Iruka’s lovingly decorated bedroom to know he had reduced himself to nothing to become the best weapon in the police force. 

_… and they still kicked me to the street._

Torn up by his sorry dark thoughts, Kakashi instinctively ventured into the attached bathroom to Iruka’s bedroom.

Just inside the open door, Iruka was standing alone in the marble bathroom.

He was fully nude and waiting for Kakashi with his arms crossed over his chest.

The yakuza’s dark eyes were precisely positioned to observe Kakashi as he entered the bathroom; Iruka looked tired and more than a bit impatient. When he finally saw Kakashi again, he rose an eyebrow in silent question, seemingly asking the question, _Where were you?_

Even though he knew he should apologize, bow, beg forgiveness – Kakashi was frozen solid, staring transfixed and enthralled at the immense tattoos running all over Iruka’s exposed skin.

He knew that Iruka would have yakuza tattoos being the boss of this branch of the Sarutobi family, but he hadn’t tested his imagination too much to try and picture them. 

That had been a smart decision, because he would have never guessed the beautiful imagery that actually graced Iruka’s body.

In the usual style of yakuza, the majority must have been on Iruka’s back, but Kakashi couldn’t see that with his boss facing him directly. While Iruka hadn’t started to cover his arms, his tattooed chest and shoulders were immediately visible to Kakashi’s stunned single-eyed sight. 

On the left side of Iruka’s upper chest, there was a beautiful spread of white and pink roses climbing upwards from his ribs across his collarbone and briefly down his bicep. The heavy blooms were in tight wondrous clusters, full and flourishing. The white was especially eye-catching, a cutting-edge technique which stood out on Iruka’s darker brown skin. The bright feminine pink made Kakashi think of cherry blossoms cascading through the sweet spring air. The lovely green leaves and stems of the rose swept across Iruka’s skin with natural ease. 

In breath-taking contrast, the right side of Iruka’s upper chest was devoted to only two pieces of imagery: thick snow-covered dead underbrush collected near his sternum, while a wild brown-hued goose, its wings open wide, took up the rest of his chest, collarbone, shoulder, and bicep. Considering Kakashi had no knowledge of wild animals, he was left staring at the detailed feathers, tracing the shortest brown feathers of its thick body and the longer, sharper black ones in its huge wings and short tail with his single-eyed gaze. In the softest ways possible, the goose had white matching the snow on its underbelly and little lines of his wings and tail. There was a vivid orange hue on the bird’s beak, and even that had the slightest hints of white.

So… Iruka had spring on his left side and winter on his right. 

He was a man of many seasons, of ancient natural beauty.

“Do you like it?” 

Kakashi slowly moved his eye upward to meet Iruka’s tolerant gaze.

“Yes, Boss,” he said, sounding far breathier than he expected.

A second later, Kakashi realized he’d accidentally dropped the -sama honorific.

He blushed at his mistake, not sure how to correct himself.

Upon hearing his answer and seeing his face flush, Iruka smiled at him in such a slow, satisfied way that it made Kakashi instantly want to drop to his knees. The yakuza was still giving him the darkly pleased look when he gestured for Kakashi to sit on the wood stool by the nearby marble wall. “You’ll help me wash my hair,” Iruka explained easily and then watched without further comment as Kakashi obediently took up the offered seat.

Unlike Iruka, who was down to his only extensive tattoos, Kakashi was still entirely clothed in the suit that he had been given earlier in the day. Kakashi spared a one-eyed glance at his old police-duty boots, wondering if he should take them off. But his boss hadn’t said a thing about _him_ undressing, so he stayed in his full bodyguard attire. He even kept on his new eyepatch.

They were closer together now, and there was no hiding that Iruka was a truly delicious specimen, a real feast for the eyes. Even without his fascinating yakuza tattoos, the man would have been beautiful: his skin was almost flawless, and he clearly worked out, his muscles lean and developed. His tied-back dark brown hair matched the trail of hair on his abdomen leading down to his groin. 

Kakashi deliberately spent very little time staring at Iruka’s flaccid cock, badly wanting not to embarrass himself by ogling his boss.

He glanced upwards to consider the rainfall shower spray in the center of Iruka’s bathroom: it was oversized and would certainly drench them both. Looking further back in the space, Kakashi realized that the bathroom must also have a small sauna area in addition to the front walk-in shower. Certainly Iruka would have his options relaxing after a long day of kicking men’s faces, visiting prostitutes, and slapping traitorous shatei.

And then it finally and stunningly occurred to him: 

_Mizuki was Iruka’s lover._

As if God was mocking his delayed epiphany, suddenly the shower started, and Kakashi was abruptly drenched in rapidly heating water. He would have sputtered at the unexpected water now flooding his face and saturating his silver hair, but instead he kept thinking about the irritating little man who apparently intimately knew his boss.

_That motherfucker… got to… touch Iruka? My Iruka?_

Kakashi had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from growing stupidly jealous. He reminded himself that he was Iruka’s employee, his bodyguard – not his boyfriend, not his lover. He had a responsibility to shield the man from bullets and knives, to take care of his any and every need; he wasn’t supposed to care about who Iruka fucked or…

Who fucked Iruka?

_Wait, could that guy… have fucked Iruka?_

He snapped his single-eyed gaze down, instinctively wanting to look at the yakuza as if he could spot some sign of Iruka’s sexual preferences on his very skin.

Instead Kakashi saw Iruka’s back for the first time.

The yakuza boss had pulled over a second bamboo bench and was sitting down in front of Kakashi, seeming just as unbothered as before. Much like Kakashi, Iruka was already soaking wet, fat beads of water sliding down his tattooed shoulders and back. He was tugging off his hair-tie and running his hands through his hair – as Kakashi became overwhelmed yet again by the astonishing sight of Iruka’s yakuza tattoos.

Kakashi had amazing photographic memory; it had been one of his distinct advantages as a cop. As such, he recognized Iruka’s back tattoo instantaneously: it was the carved symbol on the _torii_ , the wooden gateway, of the Konoha Shinto Shrine in the nearby mountains. He had frequently visited Konoha in his childhood, the shrine being a site of sacred contemplation for his father, a place that he often later visited as he tried to understand the slippery strands of existence.

The _torii_ was yin and yang, tiger and dragon, twins entangled but balanced. 

Iruka’s tattoo was a colorful representation of the shrine’s unpainted wood _torii_ : the tiger was on the bottom right, and the dragon on the upper left. The tiger, the symbol of yin, had taken roiling white clouds and snow-smothered tree-tops from the right side of Iruka’s chest and shoulder into its background, its huge orange-and-black-striped muscular body twisted in mid-pounce. Its enormous maw hung open in a soundless challenging roar, its blazing eyes locked on the dragon screaming above it. The dragon, the symbol of yang, was fully uncoiled, its long green-scaled body spread across Iruka’s left side, its vicious claws ready to strike, its sharp eyes stuck down on its match, its mate. Wildly blossoming pink-and-white roses hung all around the dragon, drawing out a vibrant variety of green shades in its scales, claws, teeth, eyes. 

“Hound-san?”

Startling at the sudden question, Kakashi said the first thing that came to his mind.

“You have Konoha’s shrine gate on your back.”

Iruka turned so quickly around that Kakashi almost reached for his water-logged guns, but he restrained himself decently enough that his boss didn’t notice his near-mistake. 

The yakuza’s dark eyes were narrowed and intrigued as he considered Kakashi under the endless deluge of water pouring over them both. Iruka seemed utterly unconcerned being so thoroughly soaked; he instead seemed to be inspecting something deep inside Kakashi. Eventually, Iruka lifted his hand and tapped on the roses on the left side of his chest.

“Do you know what this is from?” he asked curiously, but his tone was low and assessing.

Water streaking down his cheeks and flattening his hair to his forehead, Kakashi forced himself not to blink as he slowly shook his head back and forth. “No, I don’t, Boss,” he murmured back, strangely contrite for his lack of knowledge on the subject. 

Iruka smiled at him – but it was a different sort of smile. It looked a bit like pity, like he was especially sad for Kakashi; it made Kakashi immediately think about killing himself.

“It’s fine,” Iruka tried to reassure him, clearly noticing Kakashi’s disappointment in himself. “They’re by Ito Jakuchu,” which was a name that Kakashi certainly did not know, but his eye was fixed on Iruka’s face, which had become soft and thoughtful as he generously and patiently explained his yakuza tattoos to his new subordinate. “This is from the 1760s; it was originally ink on silk,” Iruka noted, touching the roses. His fingers drifted over to the snow and the wild goose. “They think this may have been earlier by a few years, but it was ink on silk, too. Jakuchu was a reclusive artist and intellectual. He was one of the great painters of the Edo period.”

Infinitely kinder than he should have been, Iruka turned around to show the yin and yang creatures warring on his back. Settling on the dragon’s head on his back, he drew his fingers down over its teeth and further disclosed to Kakashi in an easy, serene voice, “The Konoha Shrine is from the Taisho period. I had to take certain liberties, but I wanted to coordinate with Jakuchu’s use of color.”

It was then – and really, Kakashi could not have felt any more stupid for not seeing it earlier – he suddenly noticed the six-inch black-stitched wound in the center of Iruka’s tattooed back. 

With his yakuza boss turned around and twisted slightly, the stitches stood out pronounced. They were tightly laced in a straight line, cutting through the curling white clouds above the pouncing tiger. They continued to storm upward into the whipping green-scaled tail of the dragon. Iruka’s surgically-sewn flesh wasn’t red and inflamed anymore; the injury must have been a few weeks old. 

To Kakashi’s discerning eye, it seemed as if the stitches would be able to be pulled out soon, but, even so, the wound would obviously leave behind a sunken scar, forever altering the tattooed landscape of Iruka’s back.

Iruka must have noticed Kakashi’s changed attention, because suddenly the yakuza’s hand was on his face, on his blind side, and he was gently pulling off Kakashi’s wet silk eyepatch. 

Kakashi fluttered open his badly damaged eye, trying to adjust to both of them and adapt once again to the considerable confusion of semi-blindness.

But Iruka wasn’t waiting for him anymore. 

He hadn’t expected the sweet kiss on his scar, nor did he predict Iruka’s hand catching his own and directing it between his thighs. 

Kakashi’s instincts took over: he stroked Iruka’s half-hard cock as he moved his head further aside, allowing the yakuza to kiss down his cheek, his jaw, his throat. His fingers jumped on Iruka’s erection as his boss suddenly bit down on the junction of his neck and shoulder, his teeth going deep, almost too deep. Kakashi could hear himself instantly panting in response, rough and erratic; he had his face shoved in Iruka’s wet long hair, his messy vision just barely catching the howling dragon and the black stitches of the assassin’s injury. His hand tightened around Iruka’s hard length, pulling upwards and eliciting a truly disorienting groan from the yakuza boss.

He was blinking rapidly, bewildered, when Iruka suddenly shoved him away and stood up.

But Kakashi understood in an instant: Iruka’s erect cock was now at his eye level.

On instinct, he glanced up, both eyes exposed, to see what his boss looked like, standing nude and tattooed and beautiful in the pouring rain-shower, and he was in no way disappointed.

Iruka’s face was flushed; he looked overcome by lust. His dark hair was spread wild about his neck and shoulders, covering some of his colorful yakuza tattoos. His eyes were focused hotly down on Kakashi, seeming like they could see his soul, his every single desire. He lifted up his hand and caressed down Kakashi’s disfigured scar as if he was touching something priceless and precious.

“Whatever you need, Boss,” Kakashi swore in a fervent whisper as he leaned forward closer to the yakuza. He felt like he was blacking out, unable to believe that he was finally getting to touch Iruka, that he was going to be able to satisfy his boss. He was soaked through in his suit, the hot water nearly drowning him, but, as his hand slid up the wet surface of Iruka’s thigh, Kakashi was delirious in his devotion. “I’ll do anything.”

Iruka’s strong fingers, including the one with the open wound, caught Kakashi’s silver hair by his ear and pulled him forward with obscene strength. 

Right as he took Iruka past his open lips, into his mouth, Kakashi could just hear Iruka say one word, far above him, full of dark pleasure:

“ _Good._ ”


	4. Chapter 4

Iruka’s hot cock filled Kakashi’s mouth.

He was dizzy in his love of the sensation: the way his lips were stretched, his tongue pushed down, his mouth forced further open. He fought to keep his eyes open, but the glory of being so truly used made Kakashi want to close his eyes and _just be taken._

Iruka’s harsh grip on his hair was making him so hard.

He loved having his boss in control. Loved it. Down past his shivering skin, deep into his most secret self, Kakashi loved how Iruka was slowly, shamelessly fucking him, fucking his mouth.

And Iruka clearly relished being in control: his fingers had threaded deep into Kakashi’s wet hair, and his hand was now a shaking fist, sporadically pulling Kakashi’s hair. The yakuza used his other hand to draw Kakashi’s face ever forward, lean fingers slipping along his jawline and throat, bringing Kakashi that much closer to him. 

Iruka’s eyes were dark, burning hot, always watching him.

Kakashi’s left hand was on the back of Iruka’s thigh; he was digging his fingers into the firm flesh of the yakuza’s ass. He wanted more of that feeling, the sensation of supporting Iruka, as he took Iruka’s cock into his mouth, over and over again. His other hand held Iruka’s erection so he could take the hard length deep into his throat. He stroked his boss when he could, savoring the searing intensity of Iruka’s arousal, looking upwards so he could keep eye contact with the yakuza.

He found himself leaning forward off the bench as he also pulled Iruka forward, suddenly desperate to take everything that his boss could offer deep into his mouth. 

Iruka’s dark, delicious moan in response startled Kakashi, his fingers squeezing down harder on the yakuza’s ass.

_Oh, he likes that. He really likes that._

Demanding from himself that he would _never_ choke on Iruka, Kakashi pulled away a moment later, taking a harsh breath when he got the chance. As he moved forward again and dragged his tongue along the underside of Iruka’s cock, Kakashi gazed upwards at his boss, wondering what other noises he could inspire from the man.

He was hard, he was so very hard, but this wasn’t about him, it was about Iruka.

His poor exhausted boss. Stressed to his limit. Isolated. Abused. Stabbed in the back. 

Literally. Stabbed. In. The. Back.

Abruptly infuriated by what had been done to his boss, Kakashi forced Iruka to straddle his legs, pushing himself against the marble wall, taking both his hands and clutching at Iruka’s fine ass. He was breathing hard as he stared up at the yakuza, trying to make promises with his tortured dark eyes. He’d gotten them mostly out of the shower spray, its hot relentless deluge driving him increasingly mad, but he wanted something to brace himself against so he could –

“Boss,” Kakashi said hoarsely, meeting Iruka’s scorching gaze. “It’s okay. You can fuck my mouth. I can take it.”

Iruka’s eyes widened. His face was already flushed red, but Kakashi swore that the color deepened and spread over his skin. The yakuza’s extensive tattoos were astonishing in the heat of the shower, during the urgency of sex, their bright colors only standing out more vivid and wild. 

Iruka was also breathing hard as he stared down at Kakashi. He’d dropped Kakashi’s hair when Kakashi pulled him forward, but now his hands went for Kakashi’s chin, tilting his whole face upwards. 

Kakashi could see Iruka visually trace his scar from his forehead down through his mutilated eye to the skin by his lips, close to his beauty mark. It was a slow, deliberate search, one that emanated fascination and obsession and made Kakashi shudder in his soaking wet suit. He had _never_ had anyone look at him like that, not him as a man and certainly not his scar, his wound, his worst injury of them all. 

But Iruka was looking at him like he wanted to devour him.

It made him shake.

In fear.

In hope.

In lust.

Iruka brought his hand over his cock, and he guided it towards Kakashi’s waiting mouth, and then he was pushing in, in, in, and Kakashi felt his eyes flutter in protest, but he could _feel_ Iruka trembling, he could hear him breathing brokenly, he could taste precum on his tongue. He felt his body adjusting, moving his head up, allowing Iruka’s cock to slip further along his tongue, and he was so unbelievably hot and hard, and his hands were clutching, just _clutching_ , Iruka’s ass, his fingers shuddering against the yakuza’s wet skin. 

Iruka muttered something soft under his breath, but then his hand went up and seized Kakashi’s hair tight, and he pulled out almost all the way – and then he was right back inside Kakashi’s mouth, not as far as before, but deep, very deep, and Kakashi found himself so fucking thankful that the wall was behind him, keeping him in place, holding him steady. He was trembling in his water-drenched suit, struggling to keep his eyes open, as Iruka used him, over and over again, his cock moving at an increasingly fast pace, not getting so rough that Kakashi wanted to choke, but he was nearly there, several times, shocked at the urgency of Iruka’s thrusts into his mouth. 

Kakashi was breathing erratically through his nose, barely able to handle the wet obscene sounds that he and Iruka were making as the yakuza fucked his mouth. He had a desperate desire to jerk off underneath Iruka, grab his own cock, stroke himself to completion, but he couldn’t move his hands off his boss’s ass, consumed by his strangled submissive need to satisfy the yakuza.

“Fuck,” Iruka suddenly said above him. Kakashi tried to see his expression, but then Iruka’s right hand was on his throat, his fingers spreading down the soft vulnerable skin there, and Kakashi’s mouth filled with cum, making him shake in wild pleasure and surprise. He tried to pull back, but the wall prevented him from doing much, but Iruka caught his intention, and he stepped away, his hand moving to his still twitching cock. 

Unable to swallow everything, Kakashi felt Iruka’s cum fall over his lip, sliding down his throat. He went to wipe it off when –

“No, don’t clean up.”

He looked up, a bit perplexed, trying to understand the yakuza’s demand.

_What a beautiful sight._

Iruka looked like he’d been fucked through a thunderstorm. He was loose in a way that Kakashi hadn’t ever seen him, not for a single second during the entire week. His stance was relaxed, half-collapsed, leaning far right, as he lazily stared at Kakashi, his lips bruised from biting them. His dark long hair was slick and askew about his face and neck, his beautiful colorful tattoos shining with sweat and water from the shower. His erection was fading fast, but Kakashi could still taste Iruka’s cum in his mouth, and he felt such obscene thorough pride that he couldn’t stop himself from smiling a slight but self-satisfied smile.

“Get yourself off.”

Kakashi stared up at his boss, suddenly filled with surprise. He could feel the blush of his arousal worsening with new unexpected embarrassment. He hadn’t really imagined Iruka would do anything to him in return, but he also had thought that he would be allowed privacy to jerk off to the memory of their recent sexual encounter. 

_Right. I forgot. Yakuza are merciless._

He felt himself becoming unsettled, uncomfortable with the unpredicted change in the situation. Even as Kakashi began to unbutton his pants and pull down his zipper, he was alarmed by how quickly his arousal was dying, his thoughts churning over into humiliation. 

He had tugged down his water-soaked pants and boxers and was just about to touch himself when –

Iruka leaned down, his fingers ghosting across Kakashi’s silver hair, his mouth pressed against Kakashi’s blind side.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous, Hound-san. I want to watch you get off.”

Arousal flew Kakashi, bringing him to full hardness rightaway.

Kakashi’s gaze followed Iruka as the yakuza backed away from him. His boss had retaken his dangerous aura, looking like he was a sultry-eyed predator in the darkness, waiting and watching his innocent prey. Surprising him ever further, Iruka reached over to the side of the shower, taking the sweet lavender-scented soap and starting to lather it on a dark blue washcloth. Iruka seemed so terribly nonchalant as he rose one eyebrow at him, encouraging Kakashi to get on with it, to touch himself. He started to wash himself with far too much deliberate care to be anything but a slow tease meant just for Kakashi.

_Dangerous man. Absolutely fucking dangerous._

Kakashi was relieved to have some moisture to stroke himself, to be easier and kinder with himself, but he was truly more relieved to touch himself at all. His cock jumped in his hand, already on the precipice of coming, and he had to slow down so he could enjoy the sight of his boss washing himself as hot water poured down across his beautiful lithe form. 

Iruka was watching him, too, the whole time. 

It was incredibly arousing to be watched, something he hadn’t experienced before.

And he certainly could not have imagined anyone ever studying him with the dark, dangerous eyes of Iruka Umino, his yakuza boss, the man who had just shamelessly fucked his mouth.

His chest was rising and falling, pushing against the wet weight of his soaked-through white button-down shirt. He was using both hands, holding his balls, gripping the shaft, all while staring at Iruka spread shampoo through his fingers and then stretch them through his long hair. His boss groaned just a little at the feeling of forcing hairspray and mousse out, sending electric currents through Kakashi’s hands and cock. 

Kakashi must have made some sort of expression, some signal of impending orgasm, because suddenly Iruka stopped and looked much more seriously at him. 

“Don’t come.”

On instinct, Kakashi instantly obeyed, but his body was in full protest, questioning what in the world he was doing. He could feel pressure building up in his groin, hips twisting and turning. He blinked both his eyes before closing the scarred left so he could better see Iruka through the haze of arousal and the steam of the shower. 

Iruka was unmoving, watching him, watching his face.

Kakashi had not thought he could blush any more, but he was wrong, dead wrong. He was breathing erratically now, flushing up to his ear-tips, as Iruka considered him, slow and leisured, during his near state of orgasm. 

_Fuck. He’s edging me. This is orgasm denial._

His hand tight on the base of his cock, Kakashi was deliriously bewildered, hotly overwhelmed. He parted his lips to breathe better, which attracted Iruka’s wicked attention, and the yakuza must have liked how it looked, because then he said in a low voice, “Slowly, Hound-san.”

Just as before, Kakashi was swift to obey. Although his body felt like it was breaking down, he kept his motions slow and sensitive, stroking himself up and down, as he stared at Iruka. He couldn’t help but savor the new pleased blush that was spreading over Iruka’s scarred cheeks. Kakashi knew very well that he wasn’t the one in control here, that his boss was, but he loved the look on Iruka’s face, the fascinated fixated look of a man fearfully entranced by what was before him. 

Out of his control, Kakashi heard his breathing turn ragged, becoming louder. With his damaged eye closed, he could better see all of Iruka – his wondrous-bodied, vividly-tattooed yakuza boss – and Kakashi felt his orgasm drawing up his core, desperation coursing through him. 

“Boss,” he said aloud, unashamed and pleading.

“Yes,” Iruka whispered, transfixed, standing in the endless hot shower. “You can come now.”

_Fuck, fuck yes._

Kakashi threw back his head against the wall, his cock tensing and shuddering his hand. He was moaning without worry, his hand clenching the wet cloth of his trousers. His world was briefly white in his climax, black and shaking on the edges. He sagged against the wall, his shoulders slumping, his legs spreading open wide. 

_Oh… oh fuck._

Startling the very life out of him, Iruka’s hands were suddenly on his chest.

Kakashi jumped upright and almost grabbed the yakuza by the shoulders, but he dropped his hands just in time and stared at him in over-stimulated confusion.

But Iruka wasn’t looking at him as he carefully undid Kakashi’s soaked shirt, button by button. The yakuza was still flushed from the shower and excitement, but his attention was also just as sharp and focused as he slowly undressed Kakashi. He was totally silent, too, which was almost unnerving, except for the fact that Iruka looked so much softer on his knees between Kakashi’s legs than he ever had before.

Iruka pulled off Kakashi’s black jacket, then tugged off his open white shirt, dropping them both in the corner of the shower out of the spray of water.

He sat back on his knees to push up Kakashi’s pants-leg and meticulously began to unlace his police-duty boots without saying a word. 

It was too much. 

“Boss, please, let me –” Kakashi tried to say in intervention.

But Iruka shook his head back and forth so very slightly. 

“No.”

It was all he said.

The next few minutes were dedicated to undressing Kakashi all the way – both his boots, his socks, his pants, and his boxers – they were all gathered in the same perfect pile in the corner of the walk-in shower. 

And then Iruka started to wash _him_.

The whole thing was surreal. Kakashi felt like he was floating, like he was out of body. He was trying to combine the truly filthy sex that they had just had together – with this over-the-top sweet care-taking– and it was making his head fuzzy. 

He was staring down with only his good eye, trying to memorize the sight of his boss, this yakuza, gently and serenely washing him with lavender soap. 

Iruka was so very tender with him, pressing the washcloth against the bottom of his feet, sliding up his ankles and calves, running across his muscled abdomen and chest. He moved Kakashi’s head aside to sweep the washcloth over his neck and shoulders, and then dabbed at his scar, and his nose, and then he was brushing through Kakashi’s hair with his fingers. After leaning back and retrieving the shampoo, Iruka lathered it through Kakashi’s hair, working it deep into his scalp. It was a sweet, confusing sensation, one that made Kakashi feel so soft that it was impossible to define just what was happening to him. He had _never_ felt so taken care of in his life, not by a single partner, not by his family, not… not by himself.

He realized he was fighting back tears when Iruka pulled him to his feet and directed him further under the shower, finally working to get the shampoo out of his hair. 

Kakashi swallowed roughly when Iruka seemed to be done with him.

Looking at the other man, Kakashi wondered just what was going through Iruka’s head.

But Iruka didn’t answer his unspoken desire; he only leaned upwards and kissed Kakashi ever so softly.

Then he turned around, taking a towel with him, and went into the bedroom alone.

It was only a second later when Kakashi followed him without a single thought.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes in the dark, during the storm, secrets spill out...
> 
> _____

The rain didn’t wake him – Iruka’s thrashing did.

Upon hearing the sound, Kakashi sat up, immediately wide awake. He hadn’t replaced his eyepatch; he had to close one eye to best survey Iruka’s bedroom for signs of intruders. But not a single thing had changed from how the room had appeared a few hours earlier – when Iruka had dressed in silence in a tight black sleeveless shirt and loose silk dark-blue boxers and offered Kakashi the same outfit only in a slightly larger size.

With impressively concise language, Iruka had explained that Izumo and Kotetsu slept at the foot of his Western-styled bed on the twin-sized futon every night – but now Kakashi was taking over that role. Then the yakuza slipped under the bedsheets, waved once over his shoulder in wordless ‘good night,’ and promptly fell asleep face-first into a plush pillow. 

As he stood in the badly lit bedroom several hours past midnight, Kakashi watched his boss sleep for a while, making sure that he wasn’t needed any further. During that waiting period, a gentle storm had moved over the neighborhood, and rain began to shower the bullet-proof windows. Even though he couldn’t see beyond the closed curtains, Kakashi could appreciate the rain crossing over the city, the sound smoothing out some of his worries. The soft noise of the storm eventually tired him out enough that he slunk over to the futon and laid down over the bedsheets. He only fell asleep after he snuffed out each and every stray thought meandering through his mind.

But now, hours later, Kakashi was on high alert, his focus back on his boss. He swiftly went to Iruka’s side, observing with surprise that the yakuza had become tremendously disheveled in such a short time. Even though the rain was louder now, more insistent, as if nature herself was wanting to invade the bedroom, Kakashi’s senses were honed to one thing and one thing only: 

The wild tossing and turning of his sleeping boss.

Iruka’s strikingly colorful yakuza tattoos were just barely visible in the extremely low lighting of the bedroom, but it was his pained expression that attracted Kakashi’s attention. The slight scar across the yakuza’s nose and cheeks seemed to disappear in the excessive distress spoiling his features. As Kakashi started to lean over the other man, he noticed that Iruka’s arm muscles were tense and bunched, as if he were readying for a fight, and his lips were tight over his teeth, like he was holding back a snarl.

As Kakashi touched the yakuza’s tattooed shoulders, he said, low and calm, “Boss-sama, please wake up.”

And then Iruka nearly smashed him dead in the face. 

Fortunately Kakashi’s trained reflexes saved him: he automatically jerked his head out of the way of Iruka’s fast-flying fist. He tried not to be flustered at the rapid change from troubled sleep to the yakuza fending for his life. Instead, Kakashi caught Iruka’s arm by his own scarred cheek, expertly twisting it off to the side, denying his boss the opportunity to strike him again. He swiftly did the same with Iruka’s other arm, seeing that he was about to be cracked in the chin with _that_ limb, and soon Kakashi found himself half-hovering over the yakuza, gripping both of the man’s arms with methodical strength and precision.

As he glanced back up to Iruka’s face, Kakashi was surprised to see that Iruka was just now waking up –

He had apparently thrown two quick, powerful punches while mostly asleep.

_… so he really is someone to watch out for. Good._

While Kakashi knew he hadn’t been hit either time and he’d been able to restrain Iruka with cool efficiency, he had also been at the top of his class in the police academy and the best officer in the entire precinct – even with his partial blindness. Although Iruka had repeatedly impressed him by defeating other yakuza, Kakashi was clearly the superior fighter between the two of them, mainly because that was _all_ he was. 

He was an elite weapon to be used by Iruka Umino, nameless except for the moniker ‘Hound-san,’ simplifying his dumb loyalty down into a single potent word. 

And, really, that was fine, Kakashi was fine being nothing but a weapon, so long as he was only wielded by Iruka Umino.

Held tight in his dual grip, his boss was returning to the land of the living filled with immense and profound confusion. He was slowly shaking his head back and forth, trying to shake off whatever nightmare had been plaguing him. Iruka winced a little, working his tongue in his dry mouth, evidently not liking the taste. The yakuza finally fluttered his eyes open, seemingly still quite groggy and struggling to wake up.

But then Iruka’s dark eyes suddenly locked with Kakashi’s marred gaze, and his expression turned so incredibly innocent it was almost too much as Iruka breathed in wonder and surprise:

“Oh, _Kakashi…_!”

It felt like someone punched Kakashi right in the gut and swung a crowbar across his skull at the same time.

He was still reeling from having his yakuza boss call him _by his name, by his real name_ that he didn’t think to stop Iruka from yanking both of his arms out of the hold – and then the yakuza flung himself forward into Kakashi’s chest, clinging to the shirt’s soft cotton fabric, burying his face around Kakashi’s sternum. 

There were several long moments where Kakashi could only stare in shock over his boss’s bowed head, his arms open wide and hanging mid-air in the same position where he’d just been restraining Iruka. He could barely understand the glorious rush of giddy excitement from being called _by his name, his actual real first name_ as his brain desperately, frantically, ran through every moment from the last week, trying to confirm that he had only ever been called Hound-san.

_Hell, he even called me Hound-san during sex!_

But now Iruka seemed so small and vulnerable as he pressed more into Kakashi, forcing him to sit down on the bed so they could curl up together. The yakuza made no sound other than his own unsteady breathing, which was matched by the rise and fall of his beautifully tattooed shoulders barely contained by his black sleeveless shirt. 

It would have been impossible for Kakashi to hold himself back from dropping his arms and pulling the other man into a comforting embrace. As he finally did so, his memory confirmed what he’d instinctively understood: _this_ was the only time that Iruka Umino, his new yakuza boss, had called out Kakashi’s God-given first name without an honorific… 

And he had done so while in bed.

Trying to kill his heated blush, Kakashi kept track of Iruka’s breathing as it gradually evened out. He paid attention to the slow cool of the sweat across the yakuza’s skin. He had rarely ever held another man so close for such a long period, but with Iruka… he felt like he could do it forever, until the end of time.

However, the yakuza had other plans; he finally pulled out of the embrace, keeping his head down and his eyes averted. After standing on unsure legs, Iruka headed directly for the low-lying teak liquor cabinet across from the bed, its Chinese palace garden carvings in twisted shadow in the black of night. He rummaged through the compartments, eventually producing a dark bottle of whiskey and a tumbler glass, and he quickly poured himself a drink – all with his tattooed back to Kakashi still sitting on the bed, evidently unworried about an ambush.

Iruka always drank sake with other yakuza, but, in private, the man preferred highballs, whiskey and soda. Even when it was just the two of them, Iruka consistently spent serious time ceremonially preparing his drinks.

This was not one of those times, Kakashi noted, watching the yakuza slam back the liquor in one go and then pour himself another glass.

Fortunately, Iruka didn’t down the second round. Instead, he cupped the crystal tumbler in his hands, his tattooed shoulders slowly relaxing. After some time, he turned around, leaning back against the liquor cabinet, and rose his dark eyes upward to meet Kakashi’s rapt gaze.

“Do you still have flashbacks?” Iruka suddenly asked with steel-forged intensity.

Kakashi distracted himself momentarily by shifting so he was sitting on the edge of the bed while staring back at his boss. He forced himself not to appear uncomfortable, but his body was singing in anticipatory fear, recognizing that Iruka was in a truly dangerous state.

“Sometimes.”

His answer was almost lost in the sudden downpour that came crashing down sideways on the windows. Disciplined by both his training and innate calm, Kakashi didn’t flinch at the change in nature’s fury, but surprisingly Iruka reacted to it, turning his head sharply and looking with wide eyes at the curtains. Observing the man from the different angle, Kakashi observed Iruka’s throat move as he swallowed down tension. At the same time, the yakuza’s hands tightened on the whiskey tumbler and against the liquor cabinet.

Then – abruptly - Iruka was looking at him once again, his dark stare pitiless and cutting Kakashi down to his core.

“You only _sometimes_ have flashbacks,” Iruka repeated, his voice remarkably hard. Tension refilled his frame, his tattooed muscular form stiff and strong in the rolling thunderstorm. He was clearly considering Kakashi, although not in a confused or intrigued way – rather, like a man who already knew more than enough, making his attention critical and clinical.

It sent shivers over Kakashi’s skin and caused his soul to shimmer.

His own following question was a whisper, faint but concerned: “How much do you know about me?”

The rain poured outside, relentless and unforgiving, pelting the windows. Even in the near-blackness of the bedroom and his damaged left eye, Kakashi could see Iruka’s expression change and soften, tension fading from his face. The yakuza soon relaxed even further, placing the whiskey tumbler behind him and resting his hands lightly on the liquor cabinet.

Iruka’s voice held a hint of sympathy as he declared, calm and even, “Everything.”

_He knows about Rin. He knows about Obito. He knows about what happened._

Kakashi had long ago learned how to fully school his face: his former captain had stated that it was as if he wore a mask to completely cover his features, shielding his expression from sight. He was proud of his talent, treasured the ability, honed his skills every day, month, year – all so no one ever saw his true self. 

His true self was appalling, it was ugly and frightening, it was raw and grieving and violent.

As he stared back at his yakuza boss, Kakashi could _feel_ his true self wrestling out of his control. He could feel the bleeding wound that was his life, his most human, trying to gush in torrents across Iruka’s fine bedroom floor. He wrangled it back into shape, but he must have showed something – some sign of discomfort or fear – a flash of his wounded animal self -

Because Iruka’s face went even softer, the edges of his eyes crinkling, his mouth thinning into a sorrowed frown. He squared his shoulders a little and said quietly, “You don’t know much about me, do you?”

Admittedly, Kakashi didn’t know enough about Iruka Umino. While the man undoubtedly had records at the police station, Kakashi could no longer access them; even when he was an officer, he hadn’t really known about Iruka’s existence. Since he didn’t have any remaining friends on the force, he hadn’t been able to check Iruka’s file as a civilian. However, Kakashi hadn’t walked into the yakuza’s office without researching him first. Still, the local homeless, addicts, and even his closest neighbors could reveal very little about Iruka Umino, the local scarred young yakuza boss.

He was younger than Kakashi by a few years, he was good to the neighborhood, he was charitable to the school system and the Shinto and Buddhist shrines in the area. Iruka served the Sarutobi family; he was one of the preferred sons. He always kept under the radar of the police, rarely initiating violence in public. He keenly forced criminal activity away from sacred spaces such as schools and religious sites. 

Mercifully, an old woman had admitted something to Kakashi – only after she had made him wash her laundry and put it out on the line to dry.

_My son got into trouble with the yakuza last year. When we couldn’t come up with payment for the debt, Umino-san said we could pay him in weekly ramen. I wish my shameful son was more like him, so handsome and kind. Umino-san always compliments my ramen..._

It was the most intimate thing anyone said about Iruka Umino in the two weeks Kakashi spent trying to research him.

Now, looking at the yakuza boss in the darkness of his ornate bedroom, Kakashi recognized that he had gotten to know the man much better than he could have ever dreamed.

And… and yet…

He shook his head back and forth, verifying Iruka’s assessment that he knew nothing.

For a long while, the yakuza – beautiful, dangerous, dark – watched him with a distant, inaccessible stare. Yet, when he finally spoke again, Iruka was crystal clear, and his tone rang with sincerity. “What do you want to know, Hound-san? I won’t lie to you.”

A thousand questions flew through Kakashi’s head. 

_How did you get involved with the Sarutobi family? Aren’t you an Umino? Where’s the rest of your family? How did you get your facial scar? Who did that to you? Are they dead? Did you kill them? Do you want me to kill them? Did you hire me because you want me to kill Mizuki? Who is Mizuki to you? Do you sleep with women, too? Do you sleep with prostitutes? Do you sleep with Kotetsu and Izumo?_

_**What do you want from me?** _

But they were all too much and not enough: he could find all those answers in time.

There was something else that he wanted to know, something special and singular, something that mattered to him more than anything.

“What do you think of me?”

He could barely hear himself, he was so hushed, and the rain was so full of endless rage. For a terribly tense moment, Kakashi worried that Iruka hadn’t heard him, and that he might have to repeat himself, which he abruptly realized he was never going to be able to do. He almost dropped his disfigured gaze from Iruka’s steadfast stare when –

“I think you have more to offer the world.”

Kakashi froze in place. He could feel the breath in his lungs turn into solid glacial ice. His eyes fixed on the sleek yakuza man in front of him, unable to absorb what Iruka had said.

He was still staring as Iruka pushed off the liquor cabinet and strolled, leisured and easy, straight over to Kakashi sitting on the edge of the bed. The yakuza slipped between Kakashi’s legs, the outside of his boxer-clad thighs pressing against the inside of Kakashi’s legs. His hands slid upwards over Kakashi’s cheeks, both the scarred left and the unblemished right, and he gazed deeply into Kakashi’s similarly-mismatched eyes, absolutely fearless and fond.

_He looks at me like he’s in love. Fuck. **Fuck.**_

“They did you wrong, Hound-san,” Iruka murmured, resolute yet so very soft. “You could have saved lives, you could have stopped the spread of death, you could have changed the world.”

He leaned forward, dreamy and slow, and kissed Kakashi’s scar just where it went jagged under his wreck of an eye.

After Iruka pulled away some, he confessed, sounding perfectly serene and sedate, “There’s so much more we could do… so much good we could do. But I suppose we’ll have to be satisfied with this.”

There was strange eeriness surrounding Iruka, boiling and bubbling up through his words, cascading over his undisguised scarred features. He had no expert ability to hide his feelings like Kakashi did: he was a wide-open book, his heart pinned to the pink roses on his shoulder and bleeding down across his tattooed arm. He looked positively peculiar in the darkness of the bedroom, a sudden flash of lightning drawing Kakashi’s sharp attention towards the yakuza boss’s dark swimming eyes.

He asked the question even before he really understood it: “Do you actually want to be yakuza?”

Something instantly sparked and sparkled in Iruka’s eyes. His subsequent smile was extraordinary and distinct from all the expressions Kakashi had catalogued over the last week.

He seemed especially pleased – but at the same time, he appeared so infinitely melancholy, it was like watching a man in mourning, dressed entirely in black, shadows dripping off his soul and spilling about his unfortunate frail figure.

Iruka moved forward again, but this time, he wasn’t intending on kissing Kakashi.

Instead, his mouth ghosted over Kakashi’s blind side to his left ear. 

His next words were haunting; they floated through Kakashi’s mind and shook the very foundation of his understanding of the mysterious man standing between his thighs.

Nearly silent in the storm, Iruka said only two words back to him:

“Do you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major credit to ~stillnotovermylordsixth~ on Tumblr, who made this truly amazing and bewilderingly pretty fanart:
> 
> [Beautifully Tattooed Yakuza Boss Iruka ](https://stillnotovermylordsixth.tumblr.com/post/183533690276/based-on-that-kakairu-fic-by-decafkitty-where)
> 
> Thank you, you brilliant person you.
> 
> And thank you to all the wonderful people subscribed, giving kudos and feedback, waiting for updates. You are all beautiful. I see you, and I love you. Each and every one of you. Please be good and kind to yourselves.


	6. Chapter 6

They were well inside Akatsuki territory as they stood alone in front of the rival group’s most popular strip-club, _The Phoenix_. 

Kakashi had been on this side of town before as a police officer, although he had been firmly ordered to avoid this particular street.

Less than six months after his dismissal, he was outside _The Phoenix_ in his sharp black suit with a silk eyepatch stretched over his scarred eye, holding out a lighter and burning the edges of his yakuza boss’s cigarette.

Iruka was in truly rare form tonight: he had slept better the rest of the week, but instead of looking sated and rested, the lack of nightmares had made him starved for violence. It was obvious in his every move and word; he verbally sliced into his subordinates with pristine skill, and he disciplined the men like they were rowdy students, not criminals with gun holsters. 

Only the night before Iruka had snuck behind a lazy yakuza far below him on the hierarchy, catching his arm and twisting it behind his back, whispering into the man’s ear in chilled warning not to rest too long or something bad might happen to him.

Then he’d dislocated the man’s shoulder and walked back into his office for a whiskey and soda.

Waiting in front of _The Phoenix_ , in the humid aftermath of passing rain, Kakashi thought Iruka looked hungry for confrontation, even though the yakuza’s external demeanor seemed calm. He smoked easily and comfortably, as if this was _his_ club and _his_ part of town, even though it was unquestionably the foreign territory of a rival group. The Akatsuki doormen had already recognized them – the scarred figure of Iruka Umino and his strange new bodyguard. They had further watched as Kotetsu and Izumo took prime real estate by parking across the street. 

But the rival yakuza men had done the clever thing, which was not to confront them in the slightest and let the scene play out for itself. 

Considering how _The Phoenix_ ’s bouncers were tolerating them, Akatsuki customers came and went over the next few minutes, passing Iruka and Kakashi standing on the sidewalk. Not one of them sensed that a single thing was amiss.

Although his mind was awash with a million concerns, Kakashi couldn’t help but notice that the Sarutobi yakuza were better-dressed than most of the Akatsuki as well as their clients. 

His own boss currently appeared like he could cut diamonds with his hard smile and freeze men to death with his cold eyes. 

It was all frightfully confusing. While Iruka rarely explained his plans to Kakashi, or any of the other yakuza for that matter, Kakashi could tell this was an extremely unusual venture. Kotetsu and Izumo were presently far more tense than Kakashi had ever seen them as they both stood outside their luxury black car, staring intently at Iruka in front of _The Phoenix_.

Furthermore, for the two weeks that Kakashi had been protecting his new boss, Iruka had remained remarkably reclusive, preferring to stay in the neighborhood or inside his own building. His brief journey to _Stray Kitties_ to slap the shit out of his shatei had been the furthest he had traveled. 

But now Iruka Umino was doing more than wandering through Sarutobi group territory: he was staring straight down the barrel of an enemy shotgun, playing Russian Roulette with the most dangerous yakuza in the city.

Kakashi continued to watch Iruka smoke leisurely in the cool dark of night under the flashing orange-and-pink neon lights. “What are we doing here?” he finally asked, purposefully quiet.

Iruka’s gaze slowly drifted over to him. His subsequent smile was like a fine knife, sliding straight through Kakashi like he was nothing but a thin slip of paper.

The yakuza leaned towards him, taking in a long hit of his cigarette, causing the end to glow bright vivid red. His expression was falsely friendly, it was the sort of thing that a fool might have seen and thought pleasing, but Kakashi knew the truth: his boss was simmering with scalding brutal heat.

As his dark eyes burned Kakashi down to his very bones, Iruka declared, low and lethal:

“You should know this about me, Hound-san: _I’ve always played with fire._ ” 

Then, in what honestly had to be the most terrifying moment of the week, the yakuza crushed out the still-burning cigarette in the gloved palm of his own left hand. His eyes never strayed from Kakashi as he did so, nor did his smile change in any way. The smoky smell of ruined leather disgusted Kakashi, but he controlled his face and body from recoiling away from his boss. 

Instead, he kept close to Iruka because, with that unsettling action, the man had apparently decided he was now going to enact his enigmatic plan.

They passed by the Akatsuki bouncers, two enormous men in all-black attire, with one of them opening the door for both Iruka and Kakashi to enter _The Phoenix_ together in stride. 

The strip-club was immediately far too much to handle: there were scantily clad women everywhere, some dancing on small and large stages under differently-hued lights, others walking among the customers with expensive drinks on serving trays. With one eye under his eyepatch, Kakashi found that he was struggling to take the fantastic sights in front of them, and he was instantly disturbed thinking about Iruka’s safety, having to restrain himself from grabbing the other man by the collar and hauling him back into the street.

As he stared down at the hostess, a dark-featured woman with a truly impressive muscled body, Kakashi just barely caught Iruka – seemingly without a care in the world – turn his head to the left, into Kakashi’s blind spot, and raise his hand, waving his fingers at someone far off in the distant corner.

Desperate to understand what was definitely a death trap, Kakashi followed his boss’s gaze.

Two men sat in a corner booth with a very small private stage in front of them. Their stripper a glorious ginger-haired woman wearing an impossibly minuscule black thong, her breasts totally exposed. Yet neither man seemed particularly interested in her: they were instead staring attentively at Iruka Umino after his grand easygoing entrance to the strip-club. 

One was entirely too much: he was pure brilliant blonde, a thick swath of yellow bangs covering the left side of his face, the rest of his hair held in a high pony tail. His clothing choice was bizarre for a yakuza; it looked like avant-garde high fashion. The Akatsuki had chosen a wild floral print sweater adorned with black and white polka dots in huge segments and exaggerated black and white stripes in others. The rival yakuza’s white pants acted as a blank canvas, picking up all of the flashing colors of the strip-club, morphing pink into blue into green into orange, over and over again, exactly timed with the throbbing Western hip-hop music.

The other had gone in a similar but notably unique direction; Kakashi only registered the second Akatsuki’s fashion choice from time spent stumbling through the Internet. Unlike the artistic flair of the first yakuza, his partner was very noticeably wearing streetwear, his Louis Vuitton Supreme patterned black-and-orange leather bomber jacket looking especially oversized and comfortable. His pants were the opposite of the man sitting close beside him, where instead of loose and affixed with a dozen different pockets, his dark jeans were clinging and nearly skin-tight. Underneath the leather bomber, for some inexplicable reason, the second Akatsuki also wore a softer-cloth black hoodie, which he had drawn up to shadow his face, completely covering his features from sight. 

Yet, without a doubt, both of the Akatsuki yakuza’s eyes were locked on Iruka Umino, something made plainly obvious when –

The blonde broke into a wide grin seeing Iruka’s casual little wave in their direction. After giving a short upwards nod towards Iruka, he quickly leaned back, speaking with enthusiasm to his unusual companion. The other Akatsuki yakuza tilted his head to hear better, but he seemed to keep his attention fixed on Iruka standing perfectly relaxed in the entranceway.

“I’m here to see Minagoroshi.”

Kakashi spun back to stare at Iruka, new fear flooding his system. They hadn’t discussed what Iruka wanted from _The Phoenix_ , but it really hadn’t occurred to Kakashi that his boss was here to see someone, let alone see someone with the moniker ‘Massacre.’ There was no way that was a real name, but it had slipped off Iruka’s silver tongue without the least residual bit of worry. 

The hostess nodded in sultry etiquette, leaving her post at the front of the club to guide them herself. With his heart pounding and sweat gathering across his skin, Kakashi followed behind his far-too-carefree boss through the surprising maze of stages and booths filled with dancing nude women and drunken customers. He felt very little being confronted with so many absurdly attractive women. Instead, he kept noticing the Akatsuki yakuza watching Iruka Umino, how most of them were wearing hidden gun holsters, how dark eyes narrowed and lips curled and teeth bared at the sight of the two Sarutobi yakuza deep within _The Phoenix_.

Iruka frankly did himself no favors. He was committed to repeating his same behavior from _Stray Kitties_. He always stepped aside for barely-clad buxom strippers and wholly disregarded the male customers, not altering his path for them. Although his boss didn’t seem to know any of the women at the rival club, Kakashi was painfully unsurprised to find that Iruka smiled, small but lovingly, at any woman who gave him even the slightest glance. Yet he was all steel eyes and inflexible stares only a moment later when Akatsuki yakuza intercepted his straying gaze.

In contrast, Kakashi was fighting to destroy every single muscle and nerve in his face. He was also violently controlling every urge and impulse to act on his shaky apprehension of the situation. Instead, he forced himself to stroll forward with his lazy slouch from his old days as a beat cop, looking like he was unconcerned with his surroundings, even while he was on the highest kind of alert. 

Kakashi made sure to never look at the Akatsuki women – but he did stare down a number of the yakuza, particularly those that seemed less disciplined and a little more eager to engage with Iruka without any further provocation beside his foreign presence in the club. Between his slicked-back silver hair, the jagged facial scar, the black eyepatch, and his dark suit bulging under his arms at his holsters, Kakashi knew most of the Akatsuki yakuza had pinned him as a bodyguard not to harass without due cause. 

They were absolutely right to fear him: he was dangerously on edge. He realized he was more willing to pull out his guns than he had ever been before in his life.

Because, no matter what he did, there was no way in hell that he and Iruka would survive if the Akatsuki turned on them now.

So Kakashi focused more on how he would kill as many men as possible before going down in a shower of hot metal under rainbow strobe lights.

Iruka weaved more fluidly through the club than he would have expected of the man. He seemed perfectly in element, although Kakashi was certain that his boss almost always stayed in close proximity to his home office. Nonetheless, surrounded by wild colorful lights, amid luscious thighs and generous curves, Iruka Umino appeared like he belonged in the dark underground, carefully tending to his own ladies, drinking hard liquor, and smoking fine cigarettes. His boss definitely didn’t seem as worried as Kakashi secretly felt. If anything, Iruka looked more at ease than he had been all week. 

… It was fascinating, really, watching Iruka in an enemy environment. He was obviously pretending in some ways, taking on the persona of someone else, somebody comfortable with invading, conquering, and setting up camp in a world of sporadic horrors and unknown danger. 

Undeniably, a strange awful part of Kakashi was actually comfortable with the unfolding situation. He understood that it was his law enforcement training seeping upward through his skin, taking control of his actions on muscle memory. His natural instincts to remain calm, assess, consider, contemplate, and kill were easily rising to the surface without him even needing to call upon them. 

And yet – and yet - he saw, for one second, for just one flash of a moment, the night when he shot Rin in the neck.

She had leapt in front of their former friend, once his partner, once her partner, protecting them both in each man’s wild fury – he had the instinct right – but the impulse was wrong – and the whites of Rin’s eyes shone and stuck forever in Kakashi’s memory, somehow even worse than the blood that suddenly gushed across her body armor.

Obito had disappeared into the darkness as reinforcements arrived, gone into the sorrowful night.

And Kakashi had held Rin as her body spasmed, as her hand weakened and went limp in his own. 

She tried to say something to him, but it was only wet spilling blood, red liquid bubbling on her lips.

In his distracted daze, Kakashi suddenly knocked into a topless young woman with dark brown skin and sparkling olive-green contacts.

He was in an Akatsuki yakuza strip-club, not in a blood-stained alleyway.

Saving him once again, Iruka was instantly there to catch the waitress’s tray with ridiculous calm and skill. He smiled apologetically at the woman, pressed up to close to her, whispered something into her ear, all while Kakashi stared, stunned and in total disbelief that he’d failed in his duties to his boss. 

With her attention switched over to Iruka, not Kakashi, the Akatsuki woman flushed more than a bit in response to Iruka’s words, her anger and worries instantly put aside for the rival yakuza man.

As he gathered himself and restored himself to the present, Kakashi was staggered to see that Iruka’s left hand was lingering on the woman’s bare waist where he’d grabbed her when she had almost lost her balance. The yakuza was far enough apart from her that their bodies weren’t touching, but his lips were intimate along her pierced ear as he spoke in a tone so quiet that only she could hear him. 

A second later, she gave Iruka a long, dark look through her eyelashes. 

Iruka’s answering smile was the one that Kakashi had seen before, the one that promised unbridled pleasure at the expense of one’s pride. 

After Iruka relinquished her and she moved past Kakashi, not sparing _his_ disrespectful self a second look, the yakuza boss gave Kakashi an ambiguous yet assertive look of warning. 

He could tell the subtle difference in Iruka’s dark eyes: he was fleetingly back to being the man starved for violence, the ruthless figure who hurt his own people to keep them on their toes. 

Kakashi knew Iruka didn’t mean it as a condemnation – he was clearly concerned about the badly-timed flashback – something that was immediately confirmed when -

Iruka stepped forward and surprised the life out of him.

His gloved fingers – not the one with the cigarette burn, but the clean ones that smelled of fine leather – those graced the very end of Kakashi’s facial scar, tracing the edge where the knife had finally slid into air instead of dragging across his pale skin. 

The yakuza leaned into him this time, and he said softly with unending serenity, barely able to be heard over the loud pounding bassline of the Western club music:

“I want to fuck you tonight, so let’s try not to die here.”

Although the hostess had been waiting for them, she was suddenly by their side, silently redirecting them to keep walking further into the Wonderland horror zone of _The Phoenix_. 

His brain now utterly overloaded, Kakashi fell entirely back on instinct, no longer troubled by the idea that he might accidentally kill his boss and now more concerned about getting them out of the club alive. He followed Iruka like a stray dog following behind its new master, loyalty encouraging its every move, eager attentiveness making him keen-eyed and determined. 

After passing a few more booths and stages, each getting smaller and more familiar, they finally arrived at the far opposite corner from the two Akatsuki yakuza at the front of _The Phoenix_.

The first thing Kakashi noticed was the outlandishly tall and considerably well-built bodyguard standing by the stage. He was in a long black trench-coat with a crisp white button-up shirt; a satin grey-blue tie was the only solitary note of color in his attire. He was fairly relaxed in his role, but his eyes were notably shark-like and dead as he considered both strangers coming his way. Seeing their approach, he gave a slight sinister grin especially to Kakashi that made him want to shiver all over.

The second figure was the lovely lady on stage, an olive-skinned beauty wearing a Crayola-blue wig that cascaded down her back like ocean water lapping at the shore. She was slowly dancing to the club’s current choice of music, a rap song with a thundering bassline and surreal electro-bounce. She wore more than most of the women at _The Phoenix_ : sparkling-crystal-sewn black mesh and spandex covered her thighs and sex, crept up her stomach, and stretched across her breasts. 

Her eyes weren’t on the third figure below her; her lost, dreamy gaze instead roamed about the ceiling.

But –

But Kakashi’s own single-eyed gaze _was_ on the third person, a pale-skinned and dark-attired man sitting in the far back of the booth. Heavy black bangs hung about his face, although not enough to hide the dreary bags under his eyes. Unlike his counterparts at the front of _The Phoenix_ , the man wore an expensive black tailored suit much like Iruka’s with a blood-red silk tie that made his whole look all the more malevolent and fiendish. The way his loose, long pony tail spread over his shoulder made him seem cavalier, but Kakashi knew better, because -

He knew this man – this so-called Minagoroshi.

This was Itachi Uchiha…

_… an undercover police officer._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all of you as well as your comments. I may not always leave a reply, but please know your words inspire me immeasurably. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and I truly hope you enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> ____

As he looked up, Itachi’s eyes went crimson under the strobe lights.

It was quite the visual: Kakashi could tell that with his photographic memory, he would remember the sight for a long, long time. It further seared into his brain as he was torn apart by metaphorical wild dogs upon facing the impossible. 

Should he reveal Itachi’s true identity to Iruka? Did he even know Itachi’s identity? Should he betray the police force, or should he turn on Iruka, a yakuza, a criminal, a crime lord? But just who was Iruka? And who the fuck was he anymore, anyway?

Knowing such conflict would be written in huge black letters on an ordinary man’s face, Kakashi forcibly restrained himself so much that he acted only on old martial instinct. He kept himself perfectly in place as he watched Iruka tuck into the black leather booth and slide around the small stage to sit beside Minagoroshi.

… Itachi Uchiha.

As the inattentive stripper danced slowly above the pair, Kakashi took a repressed-panicked moment to consider Itachi’s monstrous bodyguard.

The man was undoubtedly yakuza. He was dead-eyed in his stare, but he was clearly surveying the entirety of _The Phoenix_ , seeking out stray problems as if he could shut them with his very gaze. Since Iruka said so very little to Kakashi before starting this strange mission, he didn’t know the name of this Akatsuki, but he also knew he had never seen him before on the police force. 

Having been dismissed only six months prior, and with Itachi vanishing undercover nearly a year before that, Kakashi knew quite well that this man was not a police officer. He must be someone that the Akatsuki purposefully placed with Itachi into a partnership of body and blood and sake.

He returned his attention to Iruka. Kakashi kept his back against the far wall of the club; he positioned his blind-spot to be on the nearby bar, which was devoid of a bartender and, consequentially, any customers. Directly behind him was a closed door to a V.I.P. room, which he imagined was empty since Itachi had taken up position in this distant corner of the club. With his good right eye, Kakashi could keep track of the tall, shark-eyed bodyguard as well as both of their bosses. 

Horrifically, he almost shook in his boots as he saw Iruka send him a small smile before fully taking place _pressed up against Itachi Uchiha._

Unexpectedly, Itachi didn’t move away from Iruka’s deliberate intimacy. 

Instead Itachi’s unusual gaze travelled past the crystal-clad stripper between them and landed directly on Kakashi standing on the other side of the stage. His voice was surprisingly clear being so deep-toned, audible above the pounding Western hip hop music. 

“Is that your new bodyguard?”

Iruka was watching Kakashi, too. He wore the same feline smile that was so familiar to Kakashi: he looked delighted and pleased in the superior, cruel way that a sultan might affect upon seeing his newest harem girl. Iruka pushed further into Itachi’s shoulder with his own and answered quietly but still loud enough that Kakashi could hear him:

“Yes, he is.”

His heart felt like it was trying to keep pace with the fast-beat music permeating the club. Although he never locked his knees while standing at attention, he realized he had done so, going stiff all over as he was mercilessly studied by two of the most exceptional men he'd ever met.

He had occasionally worked with Itachi Uchiha early in his career after Obito had left the force and when he still being partnered on-and-off with Rin. They had good, cold, clean chemistry: Itachi was efficient and blind to the emotional concerns that sometimes could make missions go awry. He took orders from Kakashi very well, never blinking in the face of danger, taking down perps with precision. Of course, Itachi’s pair of working eyes were better than Kakashi’s, but he had only said that aloud one time. It had happened when they were at odds towards the final days of Itachi’s time on the regular police force.

Only his high school friend Gai had saved them from falling into violence, slinging his arm around both of them and smashing their heads together amidst boisterous laughter and calls for more beer.

Now – nearly two years later in _The Phoenix_ \- Itachi’s stare was critical, assessing, and fixed on Kakashi. His expression was much like how Kakashi had trained his own features: not reflecting any sort of any turmoil whatsoever. Itachi’s arms remained crossed over his black suit, bisecting his red silk tie. The undercover man was the perfect illustration of cool composure even while standing in the flames of a burning hellscape.

But – now – now there was a new young yakuza boss complicating things.

Iruka Umino continued to be in rare form as he, too, stared directly at Kakashi. His boss’s smile seemed mysteriously for him and not for him at all. Iruka didn’t look away from Kakashi as he leaned even further into Itachi, nearly pressing their cheeks together. His dark facial scar was uncomfortably close to Itachi’s pale skin, the mark peculiar under the flickering rainbow lights.

At the now too-intimate proximity, Itachi turned his gaze away from Kakashi, and with that -

Moving his head slightly to catch Itachi’s eyes dead-on, Iruka remained audible as he asked in a slow, smooth manner: “Are you still sleeping with your bodyguard?”

Only a few feet ahead of Kakashi, the massive Akatsuki stiffened, unable to stop himself from shooting a concerned look at the two men behind him. His black eyes went worried for just a second, but then he restrained himself, returning to his protective post and his previously confident stance.

In contrast, Itachi reacted not at all to the question or Iruka’s proximity. It was an unbelievably awkward scene: Kakashi had never been as close to Itachi Uchiha as Iruka was currently, and that meant something considering he'd once shoved the younger man aside and caught a bullet in his armored chest for him before killing the gunman. Even then, when Itachi had pulled Kakashi to his feet, his expression had wavered only for a moment. It was two seconds of surprise, relief, warmth – and then right back to impassivity.

Under the wicked lights of _The Phoenix_ , while sunk back into a black leather booth, Itachi’s nose was less than an inch away from Iruka’s. The two were so close they were sharing a single bated breath.

They easily could have kissed.

Whereas Itachi’s discipline held strong, his facial features schooled and under full control, Iruka seemed to be enjoying the prickly wildness of the situation. The smile he was giving Itachi was more expressive than Kakashi had probably ever worn in his life, even during his most spectacular sexual encounter. Iruka looked like a cat that had snatched a colorful canary out of the air and was slowly biting on its spine, crunching down into bone for the sheer fun of it.

“Do you sleep with yours?”

Itachi’s question was much more mildly spoken, but it had an acidic bite to it that was obviously intended to either escalate or totally dissolve the atmosphere.

Kakashi only realized he was staring, his one eye wide and disbelieving, when Iruka slid his scarred cheek along Itachi’s long black bangs and whispered into the man’s ear. His own heart lurched violently in his chest as he watched as Iruka’s familiar black-gloved hand lift from the edge of the stage and reach for Itachi. 

Then, as if he was relaxing in his home turf, as if Itachi Uchiha didn’t look like a blood-chilling yakuza nicknamed ‘Massacre,’ as if nothing had ever happened between Iruka and Kakashi –

With all the sensuality in both his bones and soul, Iruka slowly stroked the end of Itachi’s red silk tie, tracing the sides and slipping up the middle. 

Kakashi couldn’t keep up with what was happening. He had no idea if Iruka understood who Itachi really was, or if the whole thing was because Iruka knew just who Itachi Uchiha was, or if Iruka was more mad than clever, or if he had meant nothing to his boss the entire time... 

He forced himself to watch as Iruka brought his gloved fingers along Itachi’s black suit sleeve, then back again to touch his tie, looping the action over and over again, like one might caress a favored cat laying in one’s lap. He hadn’t moved his lips away from Itachi’s ear, showing the length of his brown throat above his shirt collar, the white fabric catching the colorful shifting lights. He was evidently talking, but his words were unheard by everyone besides Itachi. Iruka’s mousse-slick, tightly-tied hair was shining and striking under the flashing rainbow lights, making Itachi’s loose black hair look limp and coarse. Their dual suits were more eerily parallel to each other, just like their matching but differently hued silk ties. The pair of dissimilar men looked like long-lost twins or recently reunited old lovers.

Yet Itachi’s dark eyes weren’t on Iruka anymore. 

They weren’t on the leisurely dancing stripper on the stage, either. 

Instead, Itachi was staring far past even Kakashi, his black gaze vacant and unmoving.

The one-sided conversation continued for well over a minute, something that Kakashi had no option but to calculate with rabid accuracy. He counted every grating passing second in his head. Fortunately, he was better than his own jealousy and confusion and anger: he wasn’t visibly showing a single sign of what was happening underneath the underneath in his existence. But he was tormented by what he could see through the Akatsuki woman’s crystal-lined black-mesh thighs - his beloved boss treating his once-partner like a secret lover or – worse – someone he hoped to bed.

But, finally, fucking finally, Iruka pulled away, even though his gloved hand stayed intimate and close to the other man, continuing to learn every inch and thread of Itachi’s silken tie.

Then his boss spoke in a notably louder tone, not in a shout or anything of the sort, but the same style he had used earlier, one seemingly meant for Kakashi to hear:

“Do you ever let your hair down?”

The pair were close again, too close for Kakashi’s comfort. 

All it would take was for Iruka to move an inch forward – and he and Itachi would kiss.

Thankfully, Itachi looked utterly uninterested. 

But, then again, Kakashi could barely comprehend that the man wasn’t an untouched virgin, something he’d always thought when they were on the police force together, so perhaps this ‘Minagoroshi’ was actually secretly seething with wild want for Iruka Umino.

… the idea made Kakashi feel murderous.

But Itachi rescued himself – and all of them – by saying back after a moment’s pause:

“Every night.”

Iruka smiled the same dangerous smile that he’d given Kakashi outside _The Phoenix_ only a half-hour earlier when his pretty scarred face had been brightened by the burning embers of his dying cigarette. He dropped Itachi’s tie immediately after the words were spoken. As he reached down into his pocket – not the one with where Kakashi knew he kept a petite but potent handgun – Itachi’s black eyes carefully followed his movements, uncertain what the other man was doing.

After a tense second of rummaging through his pants’ pocket, Iruka produced a crisp American twenty-dollar bill. He stood up with impressive ease behind the booth and gestured quite congenially to the woman who every one of them had been ignoring up until now. She didn’t notice him right away, either, but then she must have spotted the movement in the lower periphery of her vision. She stuttered in her dance, slowing down as she suddenly considered Iruka below her for the first time.

Although the woman in her crystal-dotted tight mesh outfit should have attracted plenty of male attention, she seemed rather surprised that Iruka Umino found her appealing.

She stepped forward, visibly unsure if Iruka would do the usual thing and slide it under her garment, customers relishing the brief obscene close contact –

Honestly, Kakashi had no fucking clue what Iruka would do. The man was surprising him at every possible junction tonight.

And he continued to do so yet again, bringing up the twenty into the air, obviously intending to literally hand her the tip money.

The Akatsuki stripper stopped moving entirely so she could stare at him. She was much less graceful when she finally reached down and took the single bill from him. She seemed suddenly less like a skilled sex worker and more like a young woman stolen away into a dark turbulent subculture. For just a second, Kakashi found himself wondering how old she was, and, for that matter, how old any of these Akatsuki women were.

But his brain redirected him. The same instant that Iruka sat back down, Itachi asked, his inflectionless voice carrying through the music: “What do I owe you?”

Itachi’s gaze was still deadly and searching as he inspected Iruka, but there was a different, harder consideration to it. His expression hadn’t changed, but Kakashi imagined it rarely ever did in public and probably never during an undercover operation. Itachi was staring straight at Iruka with the sort of intensity that might break a weaker man, but the young yakuza only smiled, soft and lenient, and said simply:

“A favor.”

Then Iruka was leaving Itachi behind, abandoning Minagoroshi altogether, and, standing beside the small stage, he was once again looking only at Kakashi.

Behind him, Itachi’s eyes snapped over to Kakashi’s like sharp steel cutting clean through human flesh. He didn’t have to say a thing; he didn’t have to move a muscle. It was all there, screaming shrill and crazy, conveying to Kakashi in spitting cacophonous shrieks:

_If you blow my cover, I’ll kill you._

So Kakashi grabbed Iruka’s arm, moved backwards to the far wall, opened the V.I.P. room behind them, and dragged his yakuza boss inside, shutting the door solidly behind them. He scanned the room, searching for any signs of life in the small space, but the half-circle of black leather couches was devoid of people, and the single silvery pole had no waiting lady. He turned back to Iruka, bringing down both hands on either side of the shorter man’s body above his lovely-suited shoulders. 

He would tell him. Iruka was his boss now, the only person he owed loyalty.

_Itachi be damned. Fuck him and the police._

Before he could do anything else though, Kakashi witnessed an amazing look overcome his boss.

Iruka was practically turning into a devil-cat his smile was so thrilled. His dark eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim lighting of the V.I.P. room as he examined Kakashi full body, all over, his face, his single exposed eye, his terrible facial scar. His hands swept up and caught Kakashi by his belt, pulling him forward, and suddenly Iruka was breathing in _Kakashi’s ear_ , not Itachi’s, and he declared, soft and dark and sensual, into Kakashi’s silver hair, close beside his eyepatch:

“He plays a wonderful yakuza, don’t you think, Hound-san?”

As Kakashi tensed, his stomach dropping down into the basement, swallowing the realization once again that Iruka Umino knew too much, he always knew too much – his boss kissed his earlobe and said even more quietly, barely above a whisper, “This room has a dozen recording devices... I would take you right here, but I’m not letting them enjoy a free show.”

But, seemingly against his own words, Iruka dropped his lips lower, apparently intent on worship. He sweetly kissed above Kakashi’s collar… exactly like he had done before entering _Stray Kitties_ and emasculating his shatei and former lover in front of his guards. 

Unable to stop himself, Kakashi felt himself shiver in satisfaction. He was bodily holding _and_ covering Iruka against the door. They were close, the good frightful sort of close that made his adrenaline switch from fear and jealousy and confusion to sexual attraction and desperate want. He leaned his head away, silently suggesting Iruka continue to kiss him there. He was not disappointed: the yakuza man nipped lightly at the slope of his throat and slid that damn gloved hand down Kakashi’s covered thigh. 

His heart was back to clamoring wildly in his chest, but this time it wasn’t out of battlefield anxiety. 

He wanted Iruka Umino. He wanted this enigmatic dangerous man who knew too much. He would get him home, he would get them home, and he would take Iruka’s clothes off, piece by piece, and he would wear whatever Iruka wanted, his whole suit or nothing at all, and they would fuck however Iruka wanted, as long as Kakashi’s fragile fantastic flawed body could handle what Iruka could give him, whatever Iruka would make him take.

Crushing his lips into Iruka’s hair, Kakashi could only confess in a rough voice, “I want you.”

Iruka surprised him yet again – for the thousandth time tonight – by groaning deep in his throat in response. His hands tightened painfully on Kakashi’s waist, forcing them even closer together, and then his teeth captured the defenseless skin above Kakashi’s white collar in a fit of truly violent aggression. He sucked hard, too, and Kakashi felt his body respond instantaneously, glorying in being marked and wanting desperately, more than ever, to throw down every last barrier that he had ever established so he could let Iruka in, in, in…

He stepped away – and treasured the resulting wild, aroused look of his boss. 

“We should go,” Kakashi said, barely surprised at how electrified and eager he sounded.

Iruka nodded, his subsequent smile to Kakashi promising endless pleasure.

His boss opened the door and, while looking back at Kakashi, moved off to the side, clearly intending on letting Kakashi lead the way out of the club. The passing hint of Iruka’s cologne and the faint smell of cigarette smoke and burnt leather was driving Kakashi increasingly mad, but he persevered, stepping through the door to stand outside the V.I.P. room –

\- where he saw an Akatsuki hitman pointing a handgun directly at Iruka from only ten feet away.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for your patience.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> ______

Police training snapped into effect.

Kakashi did three things at the exact same time: he shoved Iruka hard with his right hand, sending the man flying from the force of it; he took out his Glock from its holster with his left hand, aiming it at the Akatsuki; and he moved forward in a purposefully unpredictable advance. 

The bullet meant for his boss blew by his right ear. He could almost hear the hot metal slice through the air over the throbbing hip-hop music. He disregarded the close call. He wasn’t here for unscarred skin and lazy days on the couch: he was here for cold callous death, he was here for ending life.

Kakashi dropped down as the second shot slammed into existence. He killed the immediate instinct to double-tap the man in the chest with his Glock. He knew Iruka would want to say something to his potential assassin: an exploded ribcage would limit his boss’s opportunity. So Kakashi adjusted his gun on the Akatsuki and took three shots in rapid order while still walking forward and keeping his body in front of where he’d thrown his boss to the ground.

Right shoulder, disarming the Akatsuki.

Left kneecap, dropping him.

Right shinbone, because fuck you, you piece of shit.

A quick survey of the nightclub showed that the Akatsuki was alone in his efforts. The scantily-clad girls had disappeared like scared rats in the streets. A few customers were still scrambling to get out of the club, to get back into V.I.P. areas, to find safety. Half of the Akatsuki yakuza guards had vanished, too. The remaining men were primed for violence if it was directed their way, but they could tell Kakashi was radiating mass murder in his body movement, in the way he held his gun. 

One slipup from any of them meant he’d kill every last one in defense of his boss.

He couldn’t see out of his half-blind eye with the silk patch over it, but he didn’t need both eyes to observe the torrents of bright red blood suddenly reflecting the neon lights of the nightclub.

Maybe he had shot too precisely after all.

Kakashi found he didn’t care as he closed the last few feet between himself and the wounded assassin. The man was older than him, but it didn’t matter. The Akatsuki yakuza was panicking, he was falling into shock, he was clutching at his three wounds interchangeably, he was unable to comprehend what had just happened. 

As if he’d never considered retribution for his crime. 

Fucking idiot.

There was no need for the brutality of Kakashi’s next move, but he did it, anyway. The assassin was down on the ground, half-sprawled backwards, with liquid crimson pooling all about him, igniting vivid rainbow in the club lights. His gun wasn’t in his hand, but Kakashi didn’t want him to have any possible chance, so he took the weapon and then smashed his police boot down on the man’s right hand currently clenching at the ruptured hole in his knee. 

He ground the assassin’s bones into the linoleum, ignoring the screams. 

And then he kicked him in the face for good measure.

Kakashi wasn’t going to turn around to see how his boss fared through the violence. The assassination attempt wasn’t over; it wouldn’t be until they were all the way back in their territory. He would only feel less tense, less crazed, when he saw Iruka nude in his shower, checked Iruka’s lovely tattoos for new wounds, and got down on his knees and made the man forget the horrors of yakuza life for a second, for just a single desperate second.

He controlled his surprise as Iruka materialized by his side. But Kakashi was worried a moment later when he realized that his boss was shaking, not very much, but enough that it showed. He’d never seen Iruka tremble, not even during sex: the closest time was during his nightmares when Kakashi had leaned over him in bed and tried to wake him up from his self-inflicted torment. 

The blonde Akatsuki boss from the front of the nightclub came deceptively rushing up to them. He was wearing a wide apologetic grin like he was the Cheshire Cat caught playing with the meaty strings of mouse intestines in Wonderland. His outrageously white outfit was still doing its fashionista trick and picking up every color that spun through the flashing neon lights. 

Vivid pink – solar orange – blinding yellow – sky blue – springtime green – midnight purple –

“Ohhh!” the Akatsuki called out as he came to a stop about ten feet from them. 

He had two of his own ferocious-looking bodyguards with him, both wearing high-tech dark sunglasses to shield their eyes. They were larger than Kakashi by fifty pounds each, and taller, too, but he didn’t care. He would kill them if he needed. 

The one on the Akatsuki boss's right was weakest in his knee – most likely a high school injury during sports – something badly affecting his right ACL – he would go down quick. 

The left Akatsuki bodyguard was more anxious than his partner. He was cleverer that way. 

Kakashi stared at him longer than he should: he promised with his single dark eye that he would crush the life out of the man, he would tear him limb from limb, he would burn him down to his bones and spread the ashes on the sidewalk so Iruka could have a more delicate path to use to walk home.

Willfully oblivious to Kakashi’s unspoken threat, the Akatsuki boss flipped his long blonde ponytail and made a falsely repentant expression – not towards Kakashi but the yakuza beside him. “I’m so sorry, Umino-san,” he declared in a cheerful voice absolutely at odds with his own words. “It looks like I have a rogue underling!” His grin continued in its disproportionate brilliance as he added in a lower, markedly darker tone, “How terrible.”

He didn't even try to guess how Iruka would react to such a series of insults.

As usual, his boss continued to surprise him.

Sounding infinitely cold, like he was an Arctic explorer turned cannibal, Iruka said to the Akatsuki: “Makoto-san doesn’t take a piss without your order, Deidara.”

Kakashi’s adoration of his boss urged him to check Iruka’s expression, but his attention was already multifold. His gaze quickly shifted between the Akatsuki boss, his two guards, and the suffering assassin slowly dying at their feet.

His brain registered the oddity after a second.

_No honorific given to the enemy boss._

The Akatsuki – Deidara – kept up his sadistic smile and waved a hand flippantly in the air. “Nooo,” he said with enough force that it could only be utter bullshit. Deidara was resting his whole weight on one side: the yakuza was carefree, he was careless. While he clearly hadn’t gotten what he wanted, the Akatsuki was still obviously enjoying rattling Iruka after the bold trespass into his territory. 

Not showing any remorse for his underling, Deidara offered a pleasant but sinister explanation for the attempt: “He just got protective of me - like any good bodyguard.” 

His insanely blue eyes slid over to Kakashi as he spoke the last few words. His blonde bangs were in the way, entirely covering one of eyes, but it was obvious that his pointed look was meant just for Kakashi. He thought the Akatsuki was being talkative, too talkative, like he had a half-dozen different mouths. It made Kakashi want to break all his teeth.

Casually looking back at Iruka, Deidara assured him, “I promise we’ll punish him for his bad behavior.” 

When he dismissively waved again, the paleness of his sleeve reflected a sudden switch to a surreal double white under the fluctuating club lighting. 

Iruka seemed to have taken the color-jump as a sign from God.

His voice was clear and calm as he said:

“Let me help you.”

Before Kakashi could move, his boss stepped forward, produced a shockingly large switchblade from his pocket, dropped down over the assassin to straddle the man’s twisting hips, and then –

He dug the knife into the Akatsuki’s neck muscle and wrenched hard right.

Fresh blood sprayed directly into Iruka’s face - but he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. 

Instead, the yakuza reached into the spasming hitman’s suit jacket, rummaged around, and took something for himself, pocketing it immediately. 

When he stood only a few seconds later, Kakashi could better see how drenched his boss had become in his act of homicide: red liquid dripped from Iruka’s scarred face, down his cheeks, off his chin. His white collared shirt was splattered with crazily distinctive crimson. The black of suit absorbed the rest of the man’s gurgling, grotesque death. Iruka’s knees had both gone deep into the pool of blood.

And he didn’t move to wipe away any of it.

Instead, Iruka looked deadly and distant as he told Deidara, “I’ll send you my dry-cleaning bill.”

Then he was passing by the Akatsuki yakuza like he himself was the eye of a hurricane. At no point did Iruka glance over or back at Kakashi. Yet someone was very interested in him: without warning, Deidara turned his cruel but delighted stare towards Kakashi. His two bodyguards had turned to follow Iruka visually out of the nightclub. With their eyes elsewhere, they completely missed the explosively furious look their boss was now giving their rival counterpart.

“Your boss looks beautiful painted with blood,” Deidara announced quietly. He seemed simmering with rage, but he also gave the impression of an artist inspired and aroused by sheer violent reality.

Even though he kept his expression emotionless, Kakashi responded with more venom that he intended as he returned the Akatsuki’s stare: 

“If you ever touch him, I’ll tear your fucking arm off.”

Deidara’s artificial grin died at once. 

The enemy yakuza was only darkness and displeasure as Kakashi passed by him. He didn’t care at all about the man’s poor reaction. More concerned about his duties, Kakashi took back his position as Iruka’s solitary bodyguard in the now emptied nightclub. There was no way in hell that he would let Iruka get attacked again – and he certainly wasn’t going to let him get shot in the back, not after Mizuki had stabbed him there so recently. 

Iruka wouldn’t get any more stitches with Kakashi around.

But his fine shoes were ruined once again. They left behind perfect bloody prints as Iruka left _The Phoenix_ and headed across the street. He seemed completely unconcerned walking straight into late-night traffic. Fortunately, no one was senseless enough to honk their horns as the visibly bloodied yakuza, so Kakashi was saved from murdering an actual civilian for his boss. He got to the car just in time to see that Kotetsu and Izumo had already started the vehicle and were ready to leave. He barely had enough time to open the door for Iruka, but he managed it, realizing instantly that his boss wasn’t going to look at him at all during the ride back.

His intuition was correct: unlike when they left _Stray Kitties_ , Iruka said nothing to the three of them. He didn’t lean back in his seat, either. During the entire ride back to their side of town Iruka sat forward and stared daggers into his open palms. He seemed to be considering the details in the supple black leather of his gloves. The left one had the self-imposed burn from Iruka’s cigarette earlier in the night, but the right had survived the incident intact. 

Although now both gloves were wet with a dead man’s blood. 

Taking a cue from Kotetsu and Izumo, Kakashi stayed silent while sitting beside his boss. 

He had blood on him, too, though not nearly as much as Iruka. Even though it had only been three quick shots, he reeked of gunpowder. His clothes would have to go to the dry cleaner’s along with Iruka’s. He couldn’t imagine what laundry service accepted dirty yakuza attire. He found himself focusing on that particular issue in an attempt to distract himself from the rising fear that he had done something wrong inside _The Phoenix_. 

The problem hadn’t been Itachi Uchiha at all. It had been the place where they met the undercover agent: it was Akatsuki territory, and it was real yakuza who had turned their world upside down. 

… Had he done a disservice to his boss for not killing the man right away? Should he have shot the man dead immediately? Did Iruka prefer being the sole arbitrator of death as the yakuza boss? Had anything gone according to plan? _Just what were Iruka’s plans?_

Oddly, he now had the hitman’s gun, the one intended to blow Iruka’s brains out.

It was sitting in his lap like a sleepy kitten.

He didn’t want it, but he wasn’t sure how to get rid of it. 

With Iruka back in his blind spot, he was forced to sit beside his boss without knowing fully what he was doing. Kakashi tried to remember the other parts of his police training – such as waiting patiently for the right moment – but he felt increasingly overwhelmed by worry. He could tell something was wrong with Iruka. The yakuza was never this quiet. He always found a way to relax even in the worst situations. His wrath could be explosive and frightening, but it always receded, leaving a reflective man in its wake.

Yet – now – now Iruka was tense. He had stopped shaking after he killed the assassin, but he was still emanating tension and fury and upset. His bad mood made the inside of the car black and foul. His clothing was soaking the leather seats with blood, something that Kakashi’s sensitive nose found remarkably offensive, though he would never complain about it out loud.

Just out of the corner of his good eye, Kakashi could see Iruka abruptly clench his fist.

Then he realized they were back at headquarters. 

Kakashi couldn’t move fast enough: Iruka opened the car door for himself. The yakuza also ignored motions by both Kotetsu and Izumo to assist him. His stride was a swift stormy march forward. He was still dripping red wherever he went: the inside of the garage now included an erratic blood trail. Even though Iruka clearly wasn’t waiting for the three of them, the elevator was slow, and they just got there in time to catch the ride up with their boss. Kakashi deliberately got in the corner to angle correctly so he could see Iruka with his uncovered eye. 

There was no doubt about it.

The man was pissed.

As soon as the doors started to open, Iruka was rabidly ready to leave the small space.

Not acknowledging the yakuza waiting for him in the common area, Iruka yanked off his bloody suit jacket and tossed it recklessly aside. The wet coat made a sloppy smack as it hit the ground in front of the low-ranking members. Although several men stiffened and at least one sharply inhaled at the sight of their bloodied boss, Iruka did not pause to explain anything. He was roughly tugging off his blood-splattered tie as he crossed the room. He balled it up and pitched it into a trashcan by his office before unlocking it and going inside by himself.

Kakashi was instantly following him.

Suddenly Izumo grabbed his elbow, and Kakashi shot him a sharp look of warning. However, it was quickly obvious the other yakuza wasn’t trying to restrain him from going after Iruka. 

On the contrary, Izumo pressed closer to Kakashi and said in a low, tight voice, “Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Then he pushed Kakashi away and returned to the elevator.

Spiky-haired Kotetsu, usually joking and teasing, stared at Kakashi with a strangely severe gaze before he joined his yakuza partner in the elevator. Then the two disappeared behind closing doors, most likely off to clean the semi-destroyed upholstery of the car.

The other yakuza were damnably curious as they watched Kakashi move rapidly across the common area, but no one had the bravery to ask what had happened. He wouldn’t have answered anyway. Although Iruka’s men obviously trusted their boss, Kakashi had learned it was unusual for the man to do much more than martial arts maneuvers on his subordinates and those in his neighborhood. For him to be so covered in blood… well, it would be disturbing for his men to see. 

As Kakashi closed the office door, he saw some of the yakuza start to take their guns out of side holsters and shoulder holsters. 

They were readying for an attack on the compound. 

But Kakashi’s thoughts weren’t with them. They had successfully returned Iruka to his territory. The problem was that his boss didn’t seem that relieved to be home. As Kakashi placed the assassin’s gun on the office desk, he saw that Iruka had randomly dropped the switchblade on the floor. A few feet later on the spiral staircase going up to his private bedroom, Kakashi found Iruka’s bloody Italian shoes, one after the other on different steps. The yakuza’s socks were next: they were astonishingly dry, their surface saved from the grisly affair by the thick leather of Iruka’s shoes. 

Kakashi found himself yet again in the dark of Iruka’s bedroom.

The shower was running.

He prepared himself for a murderous nude yakuza boss as he walked into the bathroom.

Instead…

Instead Kakashi saw Iruka Umino, still clad in his blood-sprayed white shirt and black trousers, standing in middle of the steaming shower. His scarred face was upturned into the pouring water. The assassin’s blood was streaming pale pink down his throat and washing away down the drain. His eyes were closed, and his fists were clenched at his sides. 

His beautiful tattoos were visible through his soaked shirt.

It was like catching sight of dark wilderness through a dense fog.

But Kakashi’s attention wasn’t on the man’s tattoos.

It was on Iruka’s face.

Because his boss was crying.


	9. Chapter 9

Kakashi had seen countless men cry. Criminals under arrest, in handcuffs, inside jail. Officers seeing friends killed in firefights. Husbands, fathers, sons informed of their loved one’s death. Tears of grief. Tears of fury. Tears of frustration.

Of course, yakuza were men, too. They wept on occasion. They would either do it alone, or…

… or with their most trusted companions. 

The sight of Iruka Umino, in his shirt and trousers and ink, with tears running down his scarred cheeks – now that was new to Kakashi. He hadn’t ever imagined it; he couldn’t have imagined it. The yakuza’s face was screwed up, his eyes squeezed tightly closed. His jaw muscles flexed as he gritted his teeth in a grimace. He had resumed shaking due to adrenaline and stress.

Even though Kakashi did not want to say anything, he forced himself to speak. He would have preferred to linger in the doorway, waiting to be acknowledged, but Iruka’s silence was unsettling. His tears were unnerving. 

Kakashi had to intervene.

“Boss,” he said quietly. “He understood the risks when he joined.”

Certainly Kakashi had known the consequences of signing up with the police. He had never been a well-rounded person in his youth, and the police force only further sharpened him, made him refined and pointed in his purpose. He knew working with the Sarutobi family would be much the same: he was still a weapon to wield, and of course one day he would break again. At that point, Kakashi understood Iruka would put him down, put him aside, put him in a taxi cab and send him away. He would do what he could in the meantime to make the young yakuza boss happy. To keep him protected. To shield his body, to leave him satisfied.

But Kakashi was a soldier here, too. He would die for Iruka. It was only a matter of time.

Surely the Akatsuki hitman thought the same thing about his own existence. He’d been directed to kill an enemy of his boss, and he had tried, and he had died for it. His boss hadn’t cared about his life - nor his death. 

Because those serving others – men like Kakashi, men like the hitman – they were just weapons. Interchangeable, disposable, breakable weapons.

Apparently Iruka did not agree, because he abruptly turned to glare at Kakashi with the might of a thousand burning suns. He remained in the shower, almost entirely dressed, the dead man’s blood disappearing from the white cloth down the drain. But his scarred face showed all the rage that he’d controlled in the nightclub and the car and the public area of the compound.

“He was sent to _die_ ,” Iruka snapped out, emphasizing each word, one by one. His expression had grown stormy with lightning brightening his narrowed black eyes. “Deidara _knew_ you would kill Makoto-san, and _he did it anyway_.”

Kakashi hadn’t heard this particular tone to Iruka’s voice: he found it disturbing. His boss sounded like the still-lit cigarette as it was crushed into Iruka’s glove – burning ash, burning leather, destroying more than just itself, destroying everything it touched. 

Iruka’s fury seemed like it was filling the shower with steam. 

Hot. Suffocating. Unforgiving.

“He understood the risks,” Kakashi repeated, staying neutral. He would not be moved on the issue. He had only one job as Iruka’s bodyguard: keep the man alive. As he stood the doorframe, Kakashi squared his shoulders, losing his artificially lazy slouch and revealing his rigidity. He declared with unflinching finality on the topic: “You are more important to me than him.”

He hadn’t thought Iruka could look any angrier.

He was wrong.

Very wrong.

Dark wrath suddenly distorted Iruka Umino’s scarred face. Still under the relentless hot water, he turned on to look directly at Kakashi. He yanked off each of his gloves, flinging them aside. They smacked the fine walls of the bathroom like confused birds crashing into glass windows.

As the yakuza tore into his pants pocket, Iruka advanced on Kakashi, looking so murderous that it took serious energy to restrain himself from shooting the other man.

Iruka stopped only inches away as he brought up a crumpled photograph from his side and then shoved it into Kakashi’s face. The yakuza was shaking terribly as if he was about to explode. His hair was gleaming from the styling product washing out. Stray pieces of his hair stuck to his forehead, curled down his cheekbones. His stunning tattoos were fearfully visible through the soaked fabric. Pink roses bloomed on his left side and the migrating dark goose flew through winter-snow on the right, all atop his unscarred brown skin underneath his translucent white collared shirt. 

Looking past the photo, Kakashi realized Iruka had started crying again. The other man was _furious_. Tears streamed down his scarred, beautiful face. Without the disguise of the shower clouding his looks, it was painfully clear that Iruka was uncontrollably upset. He was losing every last bit of his composure as he trembled in front of Kakashi, the 3x5 picture shuddering his hand.

It was a photo of an old man in front of a small traditional house.

The elderly man was smiling at the camera. His eyes were closed in happiness.

“This,” Iruka seethed, practically spitting, unable to hold himself back, “is Makoto-san’s father. Makoto-san sends half his paycheck every month to support him – and now this man is going to get a phone call saying his beloved son was murdered, and he’s going to cry tonight, and he’s going to starve tomorrow, all because I’m –”

Unexpectedly, Iruka’s violent strength dissipated all at once. His whole body sagged; he dropped the photo and covered his face with his bare hands. He leaned forward just slightly as he muttered into his palms, muffling his words, “ _I’m not meant for this, I can’t believe I’m doing this._ ”

Even though Kakashi wanted to comfort Iruka, he found himself asking in a much more distant and confused voice, “How do you know so much about him?”

The inquiry worked in a different way than he’d intended: Iruka revealed his face so he could glower at Kakashi so disgustedly that it was hard for Kakashi not to see his entire life as a long series of failures all leading up to this dreadful moment. 

Yet Iruka’s next words were surprising. They were as illuminating as they were perplexing.

“This wasn’t my first career choice,” he said in a hard voice. 

Kakashi was quick to seize onto the statement. Staring down at Iruka, he asked, “Then what was?” He couldn’t restrain himself any longer: his boss made him weak, so weak. He was touching Iruka’s water-drenched shoulders even as he spoke. His long fingers drifted down and unbuttoned the yakuza’s shirt, desperately wanting to cleanse him of unpleasantries and horror.

His hands proved distracting. Iruka’s dark eyes dropped down to watch Kakashi’s fingers at work. His repulsed expression faded, leaving behind a combination of sorrow and exhaustion. 

“I…” Iruka tried to reply, but words failed him, and he ended up looking miserable. Not wanting to stir up the whirlwind of his temper, Kakashi continued to undress his boss in silence. He dropped the soaked shirt off to the side and instinctively spread his hands wide across Iruka’s yakuza tattoos. He followed the sharp lines of the goose’s feathers on the right and floated his fingertips along the curves of the roses. He knew he was a little rapt in his worship, but he was honestly scared to look back up at Iruka’s eyes. 

Iruka had gone from furious to disgusted to depressed in seconds.

He shivered at Kakashi’s touch. 

_Shivered._

It was so rewarding that Kakashi felt his stomach clench and heat pool in his groin.

Under Kakashi’s roaming hands, Iruka began to breathe heavier. He closed his eyes; he looked overcome with conflict. The rise and fall of his tattooed chest showed his growing arousal. He looked progressively softer, a faint blush replacing the darker heat of his face. Seeing such a promising change, Kakashi insistently increased his attention: he wanted to ease Iruka down from fury and frustration. 

“I… I had to do this,” Iruka confessed in a low tone, his tenor unsteady. He had stopped crying, Kakashi noticed suddenly. In the wake of his weeping, his boss looked startlingly vulnerable. It was so appealing that Kakashi barely heard Iruka’s subsequent words. “I owed a man my life, and he came calling, and this is what I do now.”

For some reason, Kakashi’s instincts made him move forward and gently kiss the line of Iruka’s collarbone. His mouth was on the dainty roses, the ones opening in springtime, as Iruka continued in a pained whisper into Kakashi’s silver hair, “I used to track my students’ progress… now I research people and use what I learn to keep them alive.”

Before the information could sink any further into Kakashi’s mind, his boss moved rapidly on him.

All of a sudden Iruka’s hands were gripping Kakashi’s waist under his suit jacket. His fingers were rough and needy; they would leave red marks on Kakashi’s white skin. Unrepentant and unrestrained, Iruka pressed them further together, his lips clumsily finding Kakashi’s ear, “Every time you call me Boss, I lose my fucking mind. I am inferior to you in every way. Every. Single. Way.”

Kakashi’s overstimulated brain couldn’t process the wicked heat now radiating from Iruka – and the outrageous suggestion that Iruka was less than him. He acted on past experience, turning the yakuza’s head towards him and then kissing him stirringly hard, not caring in the slightest as their teeth cracked together. His hands were ruthless as they traced over Iruka’s tattoos, loving the feel of the edges of the ink, relishing the way the artwork spun out a beautiful dreamland in his mind. 

He was feeling less like a bodyguard and more a man, he realized.

Maybe Iruka’s irrational humility turned him on.

Maybe Iruka’s honesty made _him_ lose his mind.

Because Kakashi surprised even himself as he turned the tables on his boss and tore out Iruka’s hair-tie, forcing his fingers through the product-thickened wet hair. He moved them both under the shower while kissing Iruka so thoroughly that he had the other man gasping underneath him. Kakashi was combing out the mousse in Iruka’s hair as he bowed his boss backward, holding him upright with one arm wrapped around his waist. He was rougher than he had ever been in his life as he bit down on Iruka’s earlobe and then said into his ear, scorching hot and harsh, “Tell me to kill, I’ll do it. Tell me to commit murder-suicide, I’ll do it. Tell me to listen to you hate yourself -”

He pulled back and ripped off his eyepatch, tossing it away without looking. 

Iruka stared up at him, wide-eyed and full of surprise. His scarred face was entirely flushed. He looked like he was seeing the dark side of the moon. 

Kakashi lowered his face towards Iruka’s until their lips were nearly touching. He was unapologetic in his intensity; he could feel raging force coming off him in tsunami waves. 

“I won’t obey that order. _I’ll rebel against you._ ”

As his eyes burned black and stared into Kakashi’s soul, Iruka said into the heat of the shower:

“I want you to fuck me.”


	10. Chapter 10

Kakashi lost his damn mind.

He had no other rational explanation for his behavior. With a beautiful yakuza draped in his arms demanding to be fucked, there was no serious thought process turning through his mind. Instead, Kakashi bodily picked up Iruka, soaking wet and startled, and brought him into the bedroom without saying a word. He was stripping off water-logged clothes with mechanical precision when Iruka caught him hard by the back of his neck and dragged him down into an insanely rushed kiss.

Stronger than he should have been, the yakuza was acting every bit as desperately as Kakashi. While not stopping a second in their messy kissing, Iruka kicked off his pants the rest of the way. He was struggling with his boxers as Kakashi half-kneeled atop of him and similarly tore at the fabric. Caught in a half-choked moan, Iruka surrendered to Kakashi’s forceful hands. The yakuza flung himself back on the bed; Kakashi went after him like a starved wolf finding something sweet and wounded in the woods. His brain felt like it was malfunctioning while working overtime at peak efficiency: never in his life had he the reality-breaking ability to kiss another man at the same speed and intensity as he was undressing both of them. 

Iruka’s neck smelled faintly of blood as Kakashi kissed the stretch of skin incessantly, hotly, not thinking, thinking too much, thinking not at all. 

The dark unrestrained moan beside his ear made him shudder all over. 

He bit Iruka the same way the man had bit him in the shower, during their first sexual encounter, and Iruka was suddenly arching up against him, giving a loud half-shocked, half-satisfied gasp into Kakashi’s silver hair.

It was all happening quick, too quick, but Kakashi couldn’t for the life of him hold back. He felt like he was running a fever, suffering from heat stroke, descending into hell and burning up into ash. The bedroom was almost black in the darkness, but soft streetlighting provided some sense of what was happening underneath him. For all his usual control and restraint, Iruka was coming undone. The bright yakuza tattoos on his chest – roses, wilderness – twisted as he clung upwards onto Kakashi’s clothed shoulders. Out of breath and restless, Iruka removed the rest of Kakashi’s attire; he was utterly uncaring to the awkward fumbling and occasional pain of his frantic actions.

Suddenly they were naked together in bed.

_Fuck._

The word repeated like a singular vulgar mantra in Kakashi’s head.

He had his boss under him - something he’d wanted for weeks.

His instincts were _bad_ , they were vicious, they were cruel. Without much else in his mind, Kakashi’s hands both stroked Iruka’s cock and held the man down like he was planning on running away. His tongue and teeth went after Iruka’s nipple as he eagerly palmed the yakuza’s hardness. He felt all the dizzier and dumber as Iruka writhed underneath him in response and moaned incoherent desperate things without definition. Even though he’d shamefully pictured them fucking more than a few times, nothing could have prepared him for this moment. Instead Kakashi was doing everything at once, deliriously desiring every last noise from the eternally-controlled yakuza. 

He knew where Iruka kept lubricant since he searched the room every day for hidden cameras, microphones, explosives: Kakashi reached underneath the bed with the arm he’d been using to restrain the other man, blindly opened the box, and found the bottle clearly meant for sex.

Obviously aware of what was going on below him, Iruka moved to the edge of the bed, putting both bare feet on the floor, and crushed Kakashi’s face in both his hands, catching him in a terrific kiss. 

Before Kakashi could further respond, Iruka drew away and told him with blistering heat:

“Don’t be gentle with me. I want to remember our first time forever.”

_**Fuck**_.

The next moment Iruka was flat on his back, his legs spread open wide, and two of Kakashi’s lubricant-soaked fingers were inside him, and Iruka’s cock struck the back of Kakashi’s throat.

The pain of the yakuza’s nails digging into Kakashi’s bare shoulders felt _good_. 

He avoided gagging out of sheer determination. His fingers moved rapid, rough, but Iruka was clawing down into his flesh ever more ferociously, and it was desperate lust, it was feverish love. The angle was different, he couldn’t take in as much as when he did in the shower. So Kakashi pushed upwards on his knees, gripped Iruka with more strength, and then – there it was – his sex-drunken brain allowed it – and Iruka went further into him – and his fingers could spread the man open even more, reaching ever deeper inside the yakuza, and –

Iruka abruptly seized up, his fingernails pulling forward, scratching long deep red lines into Kakashi’s pristine white skin. 

It was a high-heaven-blissful sort of surprise as cum suddenly filled Kakashi’s mouth, coated his tongue. He swallowed it all, relishing the bitterness, the forceful gush of sex between his lips. Through it all, Kakashi was unceasing in his other actions between the yakuza’s thighs, leading Iruka to gasp half-formed obscenities into the stale bedroom air as his orgasm rocked him. Desperate for this to never end, to make this end perfectly, Kakashi brought his tongue beside his fingers, doing everything he could think of to make Iruka gasp – gasp – gasp –

The yakuza was raw brutal violence when he fisted Kakashi’s hair and jerked him upwards. Iruka’s voice was dark and hoarse as he ground out, word for word, staring straight through Kakashi like an infernal demon with a glowing-bright forest fire behind him:

“You need to fuck me now or I’m going to kill you.”

_**Fuck**_.

Kakashi felt he was all legs and arms for a second, forcing Iruka further back on the bed, lifting the man up, and pressing his lube-slick, condom-clad cock against the spot he’d been worshipping. 

Whatever discomfort showed on his face was enough for Iruka to suddenly slow down, soften a bit. The other man’s hands went from the bedsheets to Kakashi’s, where he was clenching the back of Iruka’s thighs and holding him upwards. The yakuza was noticeably working his voice to relax, trying to find and keep eye contact with Kakashi, as he whispered between them, “I care about you. I want this, I want you.”

Then Iruka swallowed, his entire facial expression becoming weak at once. His hands shook just a little over Kakashi’s, and his legs tightened high up against Kakashi’s waist. 

“You can be however you like with me,” Iruka said so quietly it was hard to hear him, even in the silence of the bedroom. He was almost soundless as he confessed, “I just want to be with you.”

Kakashi dropped the man’s legs, leaned down, and kissed Iruka as sweetly as he could.

Apparently it was just too unbearable, because, only a moment later, Iruka breathed hard against Kakashi’s lips, and his eyelashes fluttered all strange against Kakashi’s scarred cheek. As he pulled away, returning to touch Iruka’s thighs, Kakashi felt his heart break into a trillion tiny little shards.

Iruka was in tears. 

Again. 

That wouldn’t do.

Indeed, all it took was Kakashi slowly pushing inside him to entirely change Iruka’s countenance. He was quickly wide-eyed and flushing even harder, his fingers clutching the back of Kakashi’s hands. Bewildered confusion swept over him at the same time as the wild pleasure of being filled: Iruka settled back hard on the bed as his legs tensed and the balls of his feet shoved into Kakashi’s back.

Remembering his etiquette, Kakashi refused to obey the original order of being rough. 

Instead, he moved carefully out of the poor flustered yakuza underneath him… then back in.

Over –

and –

over. 

Iruka’s dark eyes were full of stars. He looked so pretty in his desperation, in his pleasure. 

Of course Kakashi savored the tight heat… but so much of his enjoyment came from the other man’s emotion, his reaction, his response. He slipped one hands further up Iruka’s leg, leaned over, and kissed the long beautiful line of Iruka’s calf. Slowly pushing back inside, Kakashi purposefully nipped at Iruka’s skin, straining to memorize the yakuza’s swimming stunned expression. 

He was so very maliciously pleased when Iruka’s arousal picked back up and showed in erect flesh.

Strength and speed saved Kakashi from his disoriented thoughts: he fully unsheathed from the other man, flipped Iruka over on his stomach, and pulled him up and backwards until his knees were on the bed, his face down on the bedsheets. 

Konoha’s gateway shone in the darkness. Iruka’s gorgeous yakuza tattoo, spread across his back, spoke silent significant words to Kakashi as he gazed down in adoration at the other man. 

The roaring dragon, the crying tiger, the floating roses, the snow shower – 

\- and the tightly bound black stitches in brown skin.

Kakashi didn’t know if he was the next person after Mizuki that Iruka was sleeping with, but he swore suddenly he would be the most memorable of the lot, and he lowered himself down to kiss the recent injury as he held Iruka’s bare waist with both hands.

In response, Iruka shoved his face into the crumpled sheets. His hands became shaking fists as they clutched the fine fabric. He made no sound that Kakashi could hear, but his body was undergoing a glorious shiver that he couldn’t stop, made more and more pronounced as Kakashi ran his tongue along the edge of the closed wound, curving around the tattoo of a snow-heavy cloud.

Pressing further against Iruka, Kakashi entered him only a moment later, causing Iruka to huff uncontrollably into the sheets and full-body shudder. 

The selfish reason for the position change was to see Iruka’s back tattoos – but the selfless one was –

His left hand encircled Iruka’s erection, immediately eliciting a nearly pained moan from the yakuza. As he began thrusting into Iruka at a quicker pace, Kakashi began stroking him in time, demanding from himself that he get the man off a second time. He knew he was pushing his luck – but –

Iruka was so delicious on all fours, Kakashi was almost salivating at the sight. His brilliant back tattoos rippled every time he tensed; his dark wet hair parted to reveal his vulnerable nape; he was twitching all over at the force of Kakashi’s motion. All that lovely unscarred brown skin…

“Please come for me,” Kakashi found himself whispering in a fervent prayer. Hope lodged in his throat: he felt so very stupid in his want, he couldn’t help but go foolishly idealistic as he neared his peak. Unable to slow down now, Kakashi was suddenly dizzily afraid that he had done the other man wrong putting him in this position, it was a degrading position, it was a hierarchical position –

Then, loudly, as Iruka turned his head to the side:

“God, Kakashi, keep going, please keep going.”

Never before had he blacked out so thoroughly. Kakashi certainly kept his pace, maybe even increasing it some; he tightened his hand around Iruka’s cock, moving more swiftly, up and down. He staved off with sword and shield and crazy the rising claws of his orgasm. _He had to get Iruka to come again, he couldn’t come first, he -_

Oh, but his human body was failing him –

“Fuck,” Kakashi muttered, squeezing his dissimilar eyes shut, as his orgasm flooded his senses. 

Then, with his mind crashing into a stormy ocean of sweet tumultuous pleasure, he groaned:

“Iruka.” 

And, holy hell, if the man below him did not instantaneously come in his hand. The shock of it only elevated and escalated the blinding greatness of Kakashi’s sudden orgasm. He found himself stiff against Iruka’s backside, one hand clasped over Iruka’s hipbone and the other still slowly dragging out the last bits of pleasure from the other man. He breathed roughly against the yakuza’s tattoos.

Finally, Iruka shifted: Kakashi recognized his discomfort, gingerly moving off of him. He took off the spent condom, tied it, tossed into the bedroom trashcan, all quickly enough to reach down and carefully pet the still panting, clearly exhausted man sprawled over the bed. He felt sharp anxiety that maybe he’d done something wrong – maybe he’d done a thousand things wrong? – and Kakashi willed Iruka to open his eyes and say something, anything, to him.

It took a while, but eventually Iruka looked up at him.

The yakuza’s hand lifted to Kakashi’s face and brushed slowly over his scar.

“Oh, Kakashi… you’re just so perfect.”

Though he hadn’t blushed the entirety of sex, Kakashi felt his cheeks dust pink in response to the man’s words. He leaned his face into Iruka’s open waiting palm, wanting more of that, more care, more validation, more mutual devotion.


	11. Chapter 11

The Sarutobi family compound was ancient and filled with yakuza.

Kakashi was not out of place: he was as sharply dressed as the rest, he looked like a killer, and he behaved as a dutiful bodyguard to a beautiful yakuza boss. However, unlike the other Sarutobi men, he didn’t know this house or these grounds. When Kotetsu and Izumo nodded at him while flanking the car, indicating he alone should escort Iruka inside, Kakashi had to let Iruka silently guide him through the gateway and the gardens into the final massive wooden building. As usual, he concentrated on his blind side, trying to pick up anything striving to escape his notice.

Assassins could be everywhere. They could be Sarutobi just as they could be Akatsuki. 

Mizuki had proven that.

Over the last few days, Kakashi had been glued to Iruka’s side. He’d thought he’d been embedded with his boss before, but he was clearly wrong. The last hundred hours had witnessed Kakashi fixed at Iruka’s elbow and hip everywhere: in the yakuza’s garage, entrance hall, office, shower, bed. Having abandoned his sentry-post on the futon, Kakashi now watched Iruka fall asleep after sexual activity – almost always him pleasuring Iruka while his boss, sultry-eyed and predatory, observed him get off at the same time. He usually slept sitting up against the headboard, one gun resting in his lap, the other waiting in its holster. 

Things had been good.

There had been no reprisals. The Akatsuki sent a fruit basket as an apology.

All honeydew. What jackasses.

The request for Iruka’s presence at the Sarutobi family compound had not been a surprise. There had been hints that Hiruzen Sarutobi – the true boss of the group – had wanted to see Iruka. Several unknown well-dressed men had stopped by and mingled with Iruka’s people, much to Kakashi’s discomfort and trigger-happy concern. A quiet aside from Izumo had let him know that these were Asuma Sarutobi’s men: they had helped transition Iruka into his current position a few years ago. They were checking in on old friends and their former boss. 

Only one yakuza troubled Kakashi, an exceptionally young-looking man whose dark hair was pulled back so tight it seemed to be straining to stay contained. 

Kotetsu had deliberately slapped the boy on the back, greeting him with a cheery, “Shikamaru! So glad to see you back here. I’m not paying you back shit. Izumo’s taken on my debt.”

Shikamaru must have been no older than sixteen. The police officer left in Kakashi made him think about demanding Shikamaru return to school: he was being a truant by being amongst these yakuza during classroom hours. However, considering how the other men acted deferentially around him, Shikamaru was no random boy wandering from the streets into a crime syndicate. In contrast, he acted bored by the whole event, frowning, rolling his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

He and Kakashi had stared each other down before Iruka emerged from his office.

“Oh, Shikamaru,” his young boss called out with more affection than Kakashi could tolerate. In no time at all, Iruka was across the room and embracing Shikamaru like they were blood brothers.

At first, the boy looked disgruntled, but then he gave a brief, small smile.

Iruka took Shikamaru back to his office alone with his arm slung over the other yakuza’s shoulders. He bumped their heads together, smiling with unconcealed fondness, saying something quick and quiet in Shikamaru’s ear. With both of their dark hair pulled back tight, slicked back with product, it was difficult to remember that they weren’t actually related.

Two days later, the predicted call came.

Iruka Umino was requested to appear at the Sarutobi compound.

Shikamaru was there waiting for them. He was standing by the large ceremonial front doors of the main house well after they walked by meditative gardens, innumerable koi ponds, and smaller buildings. Unlike their prior encounter, the young man didn’t seem disinterested: he seemed especially sharp and attentive today. It was not an appealing look on the boy, and something about it made Kakashi bristle, instinctively moving forward to pull Iruka back from going with him. 

As always, Iruka noticed his concern, and his gloved hand was purposefully reassuring as the yakuza gave Kakashi’s shoulder a firm squeeze. 

This smile – the one Iruka showed him before heading inside to see his own boss – this smile was meant to console him, to alleviate his stress, to settle him down from violence.

It worked. 

Kakashi slunk back a bit, allowing the yakuza the proper space to leave him in peace.

Shikamaru closely studied their interaction with piercing black eyes, but Kakashi surrendered nothing but the laziest and most dismissive evaluation of the boy. 

The two left him alone in the grassy area between the main house and vast ceremonial grounds intended for large gatherings. 

It did not suit him, so Kakashi started up a patrol, walking the boundaries of the compound. As Iruka’s bodyguard, his sole bodyman, his closest servant, Kakashi believed he had certain responsibilities. With his photographic memory, he could learn the Sarutobi compound and defend it from any wayward fools attempting to invade the sacred familial site. 

He was walking the wood-plank pathways around the old buildings when he overheard them.

Two Sarutobi yakuza. Not anyone he knew. Not ones who had visited Iruka. 

These were new men. They were Hiruzen’s men.

They were around the corner at the far back west-side corner of the compound. The building was closed-up; it looked once-loved but now abandoned. All around the smaller structure, pink hydrangeas hung heavy in their bright green bushes, like sweet-smelling romantic festival lanterns. 

A swift glance around showed Kakashi he was otherwise alone: even with his eyepatch and unfamiliarity with the compound layout, he could easily grasp the situation in its entirety.

These two yakuza were gossiping.

And it was easy to tell just who they were referencing.

“You didn’t see the video of him sucking Mizuki off? It was _crazy._ ”

Unexpected furious heat flew up Kakashi’s neck, painted his cheeks red. He was all too aware of his guns in their holsters under his suit jacket: he was already imagining where the two men were based on their voices, and how he could best shoot them both in the face in the next few seconds. 

But they didn’t know he was there, and so they continued, ignorant and insulting.

“He’s down on his knees, right? Looking up at Mizuki like he _loves_ him, and Mizuki’s such a dick, he’s just grinning his ass off, and Iruka’s still going at it, like he doesn’t even notice. Shit, right?”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

That was the second yakuza. Lower voice. Older. A life-long smoker. 

He kept talking, the second man. He sounded more disgusted, full of condescending disbelief.

“He’s just a whore Hiruzen picked up out of pity. I don’t need a video to know that. I saw him when he first started, his face buried between some bitch’s thighs, going at it in the back room. What kind of yakuza drinks pussy? That’s all he’s good for – getting other people to bust. He’s still just a dirty street walker.”

Kakashi didn’t even notice his hand was in his jacket, tightly gripping his gun, until the well-fitting fabric shifted in such a way to draw his attention downward. 

He looked at the partially-revealed weapon with one wide eye.

Was he really – was he really going to kill these –

“I _know_.” It was the younger yakuza again. Eager. Wanting approval. “You saw his new bodyguard, right? The blind ex-cop?”

Kakashi froze. The heat in his body switched to frost.

“Huh. Yeah. Idiot. Who invites police into their inner circle?”

“Right! There’s no way they’re not fucking. It’s going to be like Mizuki and Kotetsu and Izumo all over again, him down on his knees, giving head in public, I just know it.”

“He brings shame to Hiruzen. The whole Sarutobi family really.”

There were no thoughts in Kakashi anymore. His Glock was in his hand. He was turning the corner, he was raising the gun, he was aiming for the older man who was more experienced, but then he would take down the younger yakuza and he would decapitate them with his bare hands and he would show their corpses to Iruka as signs of his loyalty and love and he would make sure they were never, ever buried properly and he would disrupt both their funerals and he would chisel out their names on their family gravestones with his bleeding badly-torn fingernails –

The sound of a man being punched in the face – an alarming sound, a delicious malicious sound – interrupted the runaway train of Kakashi’s fury-drunk thoughts.

Brushing by pink hydrangeas, he turned the corner of the old abandoned building.

An enormous black-haired man was smashing the face of the young yakuza into the wood walkway.

With his military-issue, metal-tipped boot.

Apparently a moment prior, the other man had appeared out of nowhere and sent the old yakuza flying after his final statement about shaming the Sarutobi family. The offensive fuck was unmoving and unconscious, halfway submerged in a nearby stagnant pond lacking fish. In the one-sided brawl, the other vile thing had dropped down into the dogeza position, palms and forehead flat on the wood. He hadn’t even gotten out an apology before the large man – who was smoking furiously, the cigarette burning bright red between his lips – crashed down his boot on the back of his head, crushing his nose into the pathway, flattening his whole face like library books smashed together.

“You’d be lucky if Umino spit on you.”

The surviving yakuza tried to respond, even while shoved against the floor, but then the man plucked the cigarette from his mouth, leaned down, and twisted the lit end on the fool’s bare nape. 

The subsequent hiss of pain was so, so satisfying. 

The new figure flicked away his dead cigarette; it landed perfectly on the unconscious yakuza’s back. Being unlit, he didn’t catch aflame much to Kakashi’s dissatisfaction, but his rescuer intervened yet again, commenting in a casual way, like one might reference the weather.

“You’ll need a new partner. Turns out yours died this morning.”

Kakashi decided he liked this man, so he put away his gun. 

The bloody-nosed yakuza was dragged up by his hair and flung towards his former partner, and the bulky, military-booted man continued onwards in a cavalier tone:

“You found his dead body in bed, didn’t you? With his dick out? Jerking it to child porn? Filthy man. Sorry you got paired with him. We’ll both do better next time.”

The stranger produced another cigarette and lit it as the young weak yakuza staggered to his feet, white as a sheet, his cheeks wet with blood and translucent tears.

Then the man shrugged and added with a wide, promising grin:

“Or I’ll kill you.”

Without the least bit concern about the now sniveling young thing behind him, the man glanced over at Kakashi far down the walkway and looked him up and down, something between the way that a cop assessed a potential criminal or a seedy customer considering a girl on the streets. His grin helpfully transitioned from deadly to friendly with the same speed and intensity that Kakashi had become so astonishingly familiar with... with Iruka.

Either Iruka got it from this man, or –

“I’m Asuma Sarutobi. You’re protecting my little brother. Thanks for that.”

So this was the second in command of the Sarutobi family. Once again, Kakashi regretted his lack of interest in yakuza when he was on the police force: he should have been able to recognize Asuma immediately. Nevertheless, seeing the important yakuza now, he knew he’d never forget him.

There was an impressive confidence to the man. He seemed unbothered by his brutal actions and interested in Kakashi more than his status as a lowly bodyguard. Inhaling hard on his cigarette, Asuma didn’t give the two disrespectful yakuza a second look. Instead he walked up to and then past Kakashi.

It was impossible not to follow him, if only because Kakashi wanted to know more about Iruka.

He was trying not to be bothered by the lewd blather of underlings, but…

_So Iruka did sleep with Kotetsu and Izumo._

Kakashi struggled with shimmering jealousy: he could feel it climbing up his skin like foul goblins greedily reaching for the good feelings he had for his boss. He wouldn’t let it live. He wouldn’t feed it.

He’d slept with other men, too. It had been obvious each time he and Iruka had been together. Even though Iruka could have grilled him about his past partners, his wonderful yakuza boss had only laid back and enjoyed the results of Kakashi’s earlier experiences.

No need to be jealous.

Though… there was something intriguing about Asuma.

The Sarutobi man was serenely bringing Kakashi across the compound closer to the main house. He gave an occasional nod and grin to his own people, but mostly, he kept to himself, even as he kept quite aware of Kakashi trailing behind him. They stayed in silence until Asuma swung around a particularly fancy koi pond, one where the fish were remarkably colorful and mature. 

Kakashi recognized their pattern – he’d spent a few minutes flipping through a Koi Fishery guide when he was in fifth grade – these were Red Hi Utsuri, fully grown and impressively cared for.

“You were going to kill them?”

He looked up with his single exposed eye and found Asuma’s face shadowed.

It didn’t concern Kakashi. His voice was flat, and he was truthful, as he replied:

“They spoke ill of my boss.”

Asuma’s dark eyes were like Iruka’s: they were doing God’s work in seeing through him. But that was fine, there wasn’t much to Kakashi except for his adoration of Iruka, his dedication to his boss. His fidelity coated his weaponized form; he was committed to Iruka’s smile, tears, kisses, tattoos.

Even here and now, he could see Konoha’s gateway in ink driven deep into Iruka’s skin.

It meant the world to him as a boy when he visited the shrine with his father.

It still meant everything today.

“Do you want me to kill them?” Kakashi asked, his tone cold.

In answer, Asuma’s eyes widened in surprise, but then he laughed loudly, having to pick out his cigarette so it wouldn’t drop to the ground in his entertainment. Unsure how to respond in turn, Kakashi only watched the yakuza – second in command… Iruka’s boss… Iruka’s brother – take his time gathering himself back together before nodding mightily to himself. 

He was still exuding real pleasure as he remarked, sounding both amused and understanding, “He’s always wanted you. I get it now. I’m glad you’re together.”

Before Kakashi could choose the correct way to react, Asuma’s countenance changed slightly. The yakuza looked upward and was idly contemplating the passing clouds when he continued in the same buoyant tone, “I tortured the guy before you for three days. Pulled out all his nails, then his hair, then his teeth.”

The frosty feeling from earlier, when he heard himself being included in revolting rumor, was so infinitely mild compared to the horrible cold that froze Kakashi in place by the koi pond.

Asuma didn’t seem to notice as he took another long draw of his cigarette. 

“When a man gets dehydrated enough, he can’t cry, but his face gets all fucked up. You can tell he wants to sob his brains out. It looks weird without any eyelashes or eyebrows, and so many bruises, but you can tell.”

Yeah. Yeah, Kakashi had never tortured anyone. He was suddenly realizing his instinct, when it was in the form of violence, was so fast that he preferred his target not knowing he was already dead.

That was not Asuma’s objective. Not at all.

The yakuza boss’s penetrating eyes slanted over to lock on Kakashi’s good one.

“You won’t cry, I know that. You’d spit blood in my face, I’m sure of it.”

Everything in his life had led Kakashi to react in one way, which was to control every bit of his body. Restrain the confusion and disgust and fear from being revealed, keep himself from being made vulnerable. To the outside viewer, he hadn’t changed through the entire conversation: he looked apathetic and detached. He wore an empty expression. His hands were indolently hooked into his pants pockets. His stance was loose and unbothered by the threat, by the prophecy.

Asuma noticed, of course. His voice had darkened to matte-black when he spoke again.

“You betray him, I’ll tear you apart.”

Kakashi’s retort was instant and on unthinking impulse. His voice was as flat as a dead man’s pulse.

“If I ever displease him, I’ll kill myself.”

They stared at each other for an eternal-long second, neither changing a single slight thing, before finally Asuma seemed to be about to say something to him, but then –

“Hound-san.”

It was Iruka Umino, and Kakashi could not have cared less about Asuma Sarutobi. He abandoned him like so many shotgun shells discarded in a stand-off. His body responded eagerly and in earnest: he switched out of carelessness and into his watch-dog mode. He’d already figured out all the yakuza in the yard, but now he was thinking about how to cover Iruka and take each of them out.

But Iruka wasn’t focused on him or his surroundings.

He looked positively lost, as if he’d been dropped in remote territory with nothing but his wits. Although the young yakuza had entered the main house totally intact with his attire and hair done to perfection, he was now flustered down to his thin black tie, its intricate knot pulled loose. While Iruka almost always considered Kakashi, smiled at him, made sure they were close, he was already moving, getting distance between them, heading towards the private road in front of the Sarutobi compound. Kakashi had to speed-walk to follow him, something he’d only done after the Akatsuki hitman’s death, and his stomach was reacting similarly, twisting up about itself, recognizing wrong.

“Boss-sama?” he pressed himself to ask in concern when they made it to the smooth-paved street.

Iruka’s beautifully-clothed back was to him as the yakuza announced in a voice harder than steel:

“You’re fired. This is over. Go home.”

There was no asphalt under his feet, nothing to hold him up. The world blurred around Iruka’s back. 

Kakashi had no self-control: he heard himself plead, weak and small, a single sorry question.

_“Why?”_

Iruka’s gloved hands turned into fists. His jaw muscles flexed. His scar would be twisted under his suit jacket, his divine tattoos rippling.

“Get away from me.”

Kakashi suddenly noticed there was a taxi waiting in front of Iruka’s car.

It was there for him.

He was almost back to his apartment when he realized he’d walked away from the Sarutobi compound, rejecting the offered vehicle. Instead…

Instead, he’d walked thirty-two miles on foot.

In his suit.

It was nearly midnight when he entered his barren studio. He was standing in the bathroom, he was pulling off his boots, he was noting the way his blisters bloomed and his feet swelled. His fingers drifted to his eyepatch – Iruka’s eyepatch – Iruka’s gift – and he crushed the soft thing in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies for the long delay. 
> 
> I hope this doesn't break your heart. I promise sex and love in future chapters.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes depression and substance abuse. It does not include suicidal thoughts or attempts.
> 
> If you believe you are unable to handle this material, please skip to the sentence that begins with an asterisk [ * ].
> 
> This is a sad chapter, but it will get better, I promise. 
> 
>  
> 
> ______

He fell asleep on the floor.

He woke up, stripped the suit from his scarred skin. Sunlight broke through the blinds. Blood followed him as he walked the apartment. The fridge was still on, so were the lights: he had paid the power bill and for water after all. The shelves were bare except moldy fruit and old take-out. Condiments sat half-empty on the side. There was canned beer on the bottom shelf, in the back, from when Gai had stopped by and tried to cheer him up, but it hadn’t worked, and the alcohol was pushed aside, just like his old friend.

He took to it now. Downed one, then another. He was parched, starved. It didn’t matter.

No. Nothing mattered. Not a thing.

His feet were bleeding: he stared at the broken blisters, saw he’d torn off a toenail. Bloody footprints on concrete, trailing behind Iruka Umino in his grief after he cut a man’s throat. His own were larger, leaner, and on cheap linoleum. He couldn’t feel it, the pain, the physical pain.

He went to the bathroom, found the medicine from his last injury on the force. Another stab wound, this time in the stomach, not a drug addict like before with his face. Instead it was a woman beating her husband who went wild on the police. The knife wasn’t little: it was a kitchen knife, slid clean between his ribs, sent him to the hospital into surgery. He still had leftover pills from the visit. 

He took them, not all of them, just three of them.

He drank another can of beer.

He glanced down at the table, realizing time had passed, a lot of time. He’d slept. He’d dressed. Not sure what order, but he’d done both. Put on a police-fireman charity run T-shirt. It was years-old, grey-speckled, and faded in the wash. He’d somehow found gym shorts still reeking of sweat. No socks, no shoes, nothing on his feet but dried blood and inflamed skin. 

Every gun in his house was on the table. He recognized them, each and every one. Surprised himself, seeing the sniper rifle again, but the handguns, all eight, they were there, they were closest to him. The shotgun was above their organized row, then the semiautomatic rifle, then sniper rifle.

He’d taken apart each one, deconstructed them down to their smallest pieces. They weren’t guns anymore, just a collection of metal and plastic parts. Their bullets were perfectly arranged below on the floor in long precise lines. He looked them over, saw himself in them. 

Pieces of a man. Broken down. Broken apart.

He reached over for the beer, found he’d already drunk the rest. Went to the bathroom, used it, saw three handles of cheap vodka by the sink. One was empty. So was the pill bottle. There was vomit by his blood-crusted feet on the bathroom floor. In the bathtub, the pale plastic was marred by bile along with silver hair, seemingly pulled out in chunks.

He drank some of the second vodka, brain calculating without any effort.

59.2 ounces of liquor. 24 ounces of beer. Six Morphine Sulfate pills.

No idea how much time had passed. More than a day obviously. 

He went to the kitchen, saw there was take-out and microwaveable meals strewn across the chipped countertops. Drank more vodka, doing math. It had been about four days, more or less. His hands automatically went through the process of making instant ramen. His bones throbbed like bright neon lights malfunctioning in the darkness.

He sat on the floor, ate the ramen with his hand, drank the broth like he’d been taking liquor. Stomach churned, wanted to throw it up. Forced it down his throat. Thought about Iruka’s eating habits, how he liked ramen, how that woman whose son was in debt with the yakuza had told him Iruka let her pay in ramen, Iruka always complimented her cooking. Bile burnt his tongue. He used vodka to get it all down, let the fire mutilate his insides, make it match his torn-up skin.

He was in the bath, the water was cold. His thumb was rubbing the space where his pinkie toenail had been, making lightning streak up his nervous system. He looked down for the vomit, but it was gone. The bathroom smelled like harsh cleaners, like bleach. His nostrils rejected it once again, exhausted, overworked. His eyes went to the bathroom counter, where there’d been vodka before.

There was a plastic bag of unmarked pills. His eyebrows went high on his forehead. He leaned over, fell out of the tub, still got the zip-lock bag, stared at it. Police Chief had him memorize prescription drugs during his first year: these were opioids, high-dosage, meant for patients in crisis. No idea how many there had been, but there were twenty now. 

Then it was nineteen as he took another one, letting the pill go down dry.

He was on the bed in his boxers. His shirt was sweat-soaked, vomit-covered, on the floor. His half-blind eye hurt, he could feel the knife cutting into the eyeball and breaking its soft wet curve. He drank the beer by his hip, the liquid lukewarm sliding down his esophagus. Iruka liked high balls, he liked whiskey and soda, he was civilized like that, his eyes were dark and observant, his tongue so talented.

He could see Iruka Umino, down to his ink, slotted between Kotetsu and Izumo. The former grinning, grabbing Iruka’s undone hair, getting his boss’s mouth all the way up to his dark pubic hair. The latter deep inside the tattooed yakuza, his thrusts mixed with sweat and sound. Saturating the air, those moans, incoherent and wanting, echoing the space, coming from Iruka, as he was fucked, fucked, fucked.

His hand was on his dick, his boxers pushed aside. His eyes were closed, his head against the wall. He was touching himself, self-hatred motivating his motions. He made himself think of Iruka on his knees in a V.I.P. room at the stripclub, desperate and devoted, downing Mizuki’s cock, all of it. The little piece of shit and his smug smirk, his fingers cruel and twisting, tugging out Iruka’s hair, clawing his temples and leaving red streaks across soft brown skin.

He made himself be hard, made himself think of Iruka holding up a woman in a short skirt. The yakuza would be fully dressed in his fine Italian shoes and sleek black tie. His tongue would be wet, pink, moving fast against her. His fingers would be in her, curling, reaching for her pleasure. She would be all muffled moans, arching feet, flushed skin. Her breasts would be bare and sweaty, her dark nipples pert.

He didn’t mean it, but then he was lifting up his legs, and he could imagine Iruka there, pushing him to spread more. His fingers went down his scarred torso, went inside dry, hurting, but it became good with the sickly sweat coating his aching body and the dripping pre-cum off his cock. He was fucking himself to the thought of Iruka Umino fucking him. He wanted it. He’d wanted it the whole time. He’d only taken Iruka once, and that broke his brain, made everything mean too much and then nothing. He wanted the man to fuck him, but there was nothing now, nothing at all, nothing, nothing.

He woke up in the shower as it stuttered, the heat shuddering cold. He was nude. His feet weren’t bloody; his bathroom smelled less like bleach. More days had passed. No new pills or liquor on the bathroom counter. He touched his stomach, found it flat. Tongue working his mouth, tasting something more substantial than ramen. He’d been generous to himself, not sure why. 

He was still wet walking around the apartment. He’d put the guns away, the bullets too. He’d tossed out the trash. He found the bag of pain pills, he was down to four. He plugged in his cellphone. Dead for days, that was certain. He stared at nothing while it charged. His skin was dry by the time he looked down and saw fourteen missed calls from his former subordinate, Tenzo. 

* No one ever texted him. He listened to his voicemails. 

Two from Gai. The first old and saved from months ago, wishing him well, wanting him to stop by the gym. The second from this week, worried, wondering if they could get together sometime soon.

Three from Tenzo. Short and to-the-point. Call me, senpai. Call me, senpai. Call me, senpai.

He called his kouhai. Couldn’t get his voice in order. Kept speaking anyway.

“Come see me at the café, please, senpai. It’s important.”

“Okay.”

He wore an undershirt and jeans he’d found in the corner. He took one of the pills on his way out the door and took public transit the rest of the way to the coffee shop. It was across from Gai’s gym, _The Springtime of Youth_ , where his friend had moved his business in the last six months. He’d had coffee with Gai here before turning in with the yakuza: he could see Gai’s shining thumbs-up in the foggy bus window, encouraging him to take back his life, to do something with himself.

As if he could do something with himself.

No. No, he was nothing, nobody.

Iruka had deviously tempted him into thinking otherwise. The man was a liar, calling him Hound-san, saying that he was perfect, that he wanted to be with him. No. Of course not. He was no good. 

Iruka Umino, always making lists, always taking notes. He knew too much. He knew everything about everyone. Courier-san was just a polite title: he knew each of the messenger boys’ names and their whole damn lives, their mothers, their hopes, their dreams. He knew the taxi drivers, he knew the cops walking under his window. He knew the girls at the stripclubs, both Mizuki’s and Deidara’s, he knew them, he knew the yakuza bodyguards so low and undistinguished, the men used as pawns in war, their bodies bloodied in the dancing strobe lights. He had lists. He had research. He – 

Iruka had known so much about him. His entire past. His scars. Not just the knife scar. No, the blood on his hands, the near-black stains, from Rin’s bleeding neck, her hand going limp, her eyes fading light. His nightmares. His desire to serve. His most secret dream of doing more, something better, something, something, something.

Iruka stroking Itachi’s tie. He’d been so deliberate about it. Fucking the undercover cop with his eyes. There was so much going on, so much with the pulsing lights, the body glitter, the sugary curves, the hidden threats, the unknown variables, the death trap they were swimming inside.

He was staring at Tenzo in the café. His hair was over his eye, like it had been before the eyepatch. His kouhai had been talking for a while, trying to get him to concentrate on the one-sided conversation. He wasn’t focused on the younger man, he was looking out the window, he was observing Gai’s gym, although he didn’t know why.

Iruka…

He tilted his head, his eyes going over to the street parking.

Kotetsu and Izumo, standing against the luxury car, chatting amiably with each other.

He snapped back towards Tenzo and finally heard him.

“Senpai,” Tenzo ground out again, pressing his fingernails even more deeply into Kakashi’s hands. “You have to hear me on this: Umino got caught up with these people. His sealed juvie record shows that after his parents were murdered, he started acting out all over town. He had two dozen B&Es before he turned sixteen; he committed arson at the Sarutobi compound. Then he just suddenly drops off the radar. We only have him with the Sarutobi group for the last two years. We think he’s –”

Kakashi was back to staring at Kotetsu and Izumo: their dual gazes kept migrating over to Gai’s gym.

Iruka was there. He was inside Gai’s _Springtime of Youth._

He stood up, gave Tenzo’s shoulder in a solid squeeze, then went around the back out of sight of the two distracted yakuza men. 

Gai hid his spare key in foolish places. Not under a welcome mat, not above the doorframe, not under a potted plant. No, it was hidden under the sixty-pound recycling bin to the right of the door.

Kakashi’s skin chilled under the air conditioning. His half-blind eye closed on instinct. He hadn’t been to this gym, but he knew his friend, and Gai always put boxing rings in the center, offices and showers on the left, and marital arts spaces on the right. The back door was by the offices, they were all closed down, the showers silent. It was after hours. No one else was here.

But there in the boxing ring was Maito Gai – and – 

Iruka Umino.

Kakashi stopped still at the end of the corridor.

Gai and Iruka… they were practice fighting… while wearing oddly matching black gym shorts, green spandex shirts, and black sneakers with white socks. Iruka’s hair was up high, his beautiful scarred brown face on full display, set in fierce determination. He was on the defensive, blocking Gai’s blows, but Kakashi knew his friend from school and the many years after their career paths diverged. These weren’t Gai’s greatest attacks, not at all, more like half his possible intensity, but Iruka was sweating profusely, and he was clearly giving it his entire focus, trying to defend himself from the other man. 

Yet it was no use: Gai feinted right, Iruka fell for it, and then Gai slammed him down on the ring.

On instinct, Kakashi stepped forward, wanting to intervene. He forcibly stopped himself.

Spitting mad and flushed up to his eartips, Iruka struggled underneath Gai, but the gym-owner only restrained his arms and forced down his thigh, obviously making Iruka’s right leg go totally numb.

From only twenty feet away, Kakashi could perfectly see Iruka’s dark eyes calculating… and then he kissed Gai hard on the mouth.

It was such a dulled-out surprise that Kakashi didn’t understand what he was seeing, but, ever unrelenting, Iruka surged upward, deepening the kiss, and, in response, Gai, seemingly very confused, attempted to back away from him. 

The new additional distance became air as Iruka dropped his head back down to the ring floor… before he smashed his forehead into Gai’s nose without the least bit of restraint.

As Gai muffled a sound of shock, Iruka used his other leg to – to –

Directly knee Gai in the groin.

The bout was over: his old friend stood up, touching his broken nose with one hand, considering his dented cup under his shorts with the other. As to be expected of him, Maito Gai responded in less than a second with pleased, boisterous laughter, and he reached down to pull Iruka up, but when –

“Oh, my dearest Rival!” Gai crowed, his whole broad face suddenly lighting upon noticing Kakashi. He was totally ignorant of Iruka’s slow-motion head-turn of horror as he also saw Kakashi standing in the corridor. Instead, the other man continued, utterly merciless and absolutely exuberant: “What an amazing day this has turned out to be – getting to see both you _and_ Iruka-sensei again!”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early update today, because TGIF, I want conflict resolution, and you deserve good things.
> 
> ___

Gai vaulted over the ropes of the boxing ring, landing on the smooth flooring with surreal grace. His embrace was crushing, making Kakashi’s eyes bulge out of their sockets. But his gaze never strayed from Iruka on the elevated platform. Staring wide-eyed at Kakashi, the yakuza scrambled to his feet. He looked petrified and ashamed, like a child caught stealing candy bars by the corner store cashier. 

Ever so oblivious to the crazy tension around him, Gai manhandled Kakashi with one arm, holding him in place and presenting them both up to Iruka on the ring. His laughter was bizarre given the circumstances. Kakashi felt the opioids in his system slowing down his reaction time. He ended up locked in place as Gai clenched his other shoulder and said loudly with great relief, “I’ve been telling Iruka-sensei about you for _years_! It’s so fortunate you two finally got together!”

Kakashi watched Iruka’s youthful embarrassment grow even worse: the yakuza turned his head to stare frantically at Gai with the message shut-the-fuck-up written all over his scarred, sweaty face. 

As usual, his old friend didn’t seem to notice. Instead, Gai dug his fingers harder into Kakashi’s bicep and lifted him off the ground with one arm in his enthusiasm. He stank of masculinity. It was suddenly very hard for Kakashi not to remember the kiss from a few seconds ago, Iruka’s mouth on Gai’s, how their wildly different bodies fit together, one huge and muscular, the other lean and cut. 

“We must all have dinner sometime!” Gai continued, blissfully unaware of the hell-scape that he was twirling through. He still had Kakashi a few inches off the ground as he closed his eyes, tears dripping down his cheeks. “Ha! To imagine – my two precious people – working together at last!” 

The man’s sweat and tears were soaking Kakashi’s face, the cheek without the scar, his good side. Kakashi still hadn’t moved. His gaze was stuck on Iruka. In contrast, the yakuza’s eyes were the size of saucers, fixated on Gai through his monologue, screaming suicide or murder, it wasn’t clear which one. 

Then suddenly Gai seemed to notice something, and it would have made sense that it was due to Iruka Umino’s death-promising stare, but instead the gym-owner’s whole body stiffened as he spotted the clock on the wall. He dropped Kakashi without worry, knowing he’d land perfectly, which Kakashi did, even being high on pain pills, sort-of drunk, and starving. The man glanced down at his smart-watch, and, a second later, his big black eyebrows flew up his forehead. 

“Oh no!” Gai cried, flinging up a hand dramatically, sending sweat everywhere. “I am late to pick up my team!” He shot Kakashi a truly joyous look as he explained quickly, “I am still working with at-risk teens – that’s how I met Iruka-sensei, you know! – I have three new youngsters that are just so awesome! You have to meet them, Rival. They would absolutely love you.” 

Gai was halfway down the corridor, heading out the back exit, before Kakashi could register what was happening. His old friend was shouting backward as he waved one huge spandex-clad arm. 

“Iruka-sensei, they could use some of your lessons, too!” 

Then there was a set of keys thrown through the air at sixty miles per hour at Kakashi’s face.

He caught it instinctively above his right shoulder. 

“Lock up for me, Rival! It is SO GOOD to see you again! Call me!!”

Then – 

Then Maito Gai was gone, leaving –

Leaving Kakashi alone with his former yakuza boss.

He turned back to look at Iruka Umino, who looked not at all like a criminal. In this context, he appeared much more like a business man in his mid-twenties coming back from exercising. Sweat had caught Iruka’s stray hairs and stuck them about his reddened, scarred face. His dark eyes were on Kakashi’s form, not meeting his gaze: he was taking Kakashi in, considering his body’s state. He’d managed to catch his breath after the intense sparring session, but Iruka had started to shake just slightly, just like he had during the assassination attempt at the Akatsuki nightclub.

“I’m going” was all Iruka said as he climbed between the ropes. 

There was two weeks of blacked-out self-abuse behind Kakashi’s next words, as well as two-plus decades of suffering and lonesome hardship, all smothered with the sight of Iruka purposefully kissing his old high school friend while laying underneath Gai’s huge muscular form, the both of them covered in sweat.

“You’re a liar – and a whore.”

Iruka tripped on the rope and did not catch himself in time. His stumble cost him his defensive position, which Kakashi took advantage of immediately, instantly moving forward and grabbing the other man. There was some struggle, but it was futile, because Kakashi had always been faster and stronger than his boss, and now he was angry and hurt, his body and brain inebriated. He forced Iruka against the cold concrete, not even paying attention to the yakuza’s expression, just his limbs and getting them away from his own face and soft parts. It was an easy task for several reasons, but the one that stood out was that Iruka was evidently very upset and thus noticeably sloppy in his response.

Not that Kakashi himself wasn’t unbalanced. Yet his imbalance made him say stupid things, not do stupid things. He was talking again, this time very close to Iruka’s scarred face, only inches away.

“You lied to me. You said you would never lie to me, and you did. You are a _liar._ ”

He could feel Iruka struggling even now: his hands tightened on the other man’s wrists to the point of bruising them. Although their faces were close together, Kakashi really wasn’t looking at Iruka. His brain was ticking through memories, tracking the yakuza touching him in the shower and in the bed and in the V.I.P. room and in the luxury car, recalling the two Sarutobi men saying that Kakashi was just another name on a long list of lovers taken by a loathsome filthy man. 

“You’re a whore,” he found himself saying in a deadened voice, but it was higher-pitched than normal, and he realized he sounded like he was in extreme emotional anguish. “You sleep with all these people so easily - I was stupid to let you make me think I was special.”

Slowly, Kakashi heard something over the incessant pounding of his heart. It was a panicking sound – someone hyperventilating, taking in huge intakes of breath through their nose. He refocused down on the sweat-covered yakuza and discovered that Iruka staring up at him, very obviously in the midst of a panic attack, his whole face devoid of color and his eyes fully dilated.

Blinking his own marred eyes, Kakashi leaned back, giving the other man space. He’d never seen Iruka like this, so obviously distraught. It was so foreign that it took him a few seconds to understand that he’d caused it, he’d made Iruka so distressed. He was still staring down at the yakuza in utter confusion when Iruka suddenly controlled himself in one terrifyingly swift moment. The panic wasn’t fake, but his ability to restrain his fear – that was clearly a long-ago learned skill, something he’d perfected over many days, probably due to worse circumstances than this.

“I didn’t lie to you,” his former boss said unsteadily, each word like a figure skater stumbling on ice. “And I –” Restrained underneath him, Iruka’s entire scarred face shifted abruptly: rage overtook him, contorting every inch of his expression. “And I am _not_ a whore.”

There wasn’t even a second delay before Kakashi asked desperately, his tone uncontrolled:

“Why did you fire me? Why would you do that?”

He was staring down at Iruka with both his mismatched eyes. His silver hair was in the way, and his left eye still ever so badly damaged, but he could see Iruka’s emotions warring with each other on full display. The yakuza was still furious with him, being insulted and put down on the floor, but he was working through other things, too, so obviously that Kakashi just wanted to dive into the murky depths of Iruka’s brain and find out the treasures and secrets all by himself. He knew his own expression must be desperate – it was out of his control now, like how he’d been during the thunderstorm, after Iruka had woken up and called him by his first name, then asked about his nightmares and flashbacks – it was like that, he was wretched again, bleeding and raw.

Kakashi felt Iruka dislocate his shoulder as the other man lurched upward and snarled less than an inch from his face, the tips of their noses nearly touching:

“Because I love you, you idiot!”

He was still staring down at Iruka, but his own vulnerability swept from frantic despair into perplexity upon hearing the yakuza’s infuriated confession. He watched as Iruka dropped back down and prepared himself to be smashed in the nose, but instead the other man tossed his head to the side, his scarred face screwing up with emotion.

Iruka muttered under his breath, sounding bitter and foul, “Hiruzen wanted to know why I was being so aggressive recently, what had changed? Why assault Mizuki without orders? Why go into an Akatsuki club and kill one of their men?” The yakuza went limp under Kakashi’s hands, his whole body giving up the struggle at once. He just laid there, energy dissipating from his form. Iruka was breathing shallowly as he continued, becoming more monotone, “Hiruzen figured it out. _You._ You’re what’s different.”

Kakashi was trying to understand, but his brain had shredded too many neural pathways during his two-week bender, and he was still currently impaired. There were too many broken pieces – of himself, of his guns, of his memories – and Iruka was saying very important things and acting very unusual. Hell, this whole thing was really and truly wrong, why was Kakashi on top of him, holding him down, in Gai’s new gym? Why did Iruka sound like that, like his life was over and his spirit had left him?

Iruka’s present smile was a new one. It was the thing a man gave his well-intending friend who was patting his back at a funeral. He recognized it, the smile. He’d given it to Maito Gai and Tenzo at Rin’s funeral. The ‘don’t-worry, I’m-not-going-to-kill-myself, I-just-feel-like-dying’ smile.

The yakuza gave an empty short laugh before concluding in a hollow tone, “A yakuza is only good if he obeys orders. I wasn’t doing that anymore, so you had to go.” His eyes narrowed; Kakashi could feel Iruka’s arms shaking in barely repressed fury. His voice had dropped an octave when he added furiously, “I assume he thought you’d kill yourself. As if your death would make me get over you.”

Kakashi was completely unprepared for Iruka Umino – now truly a yakuza, even if he hadn’t been two years ago – to return his black burning gaze to him. Iruka's expression was explosive, a dark atomic cloud of death and destruction engulfing the entirety of his scarred brown face. He didn’t mean to be doing it, but Iruka’s whole body was shaking again, this time in such a way Kakashi had to really use force to hold him down, hold him back, from what – from what?

The next words were said so sincerely it was as disturbing as it was electrifying. 

Iruka stared deep into both of Kakashi’s eyes – the bad one with the jagged scar, the good one memorizing the man in this very moment – as he viciously assured Kakashi:

“If you had done it, I would have killed the old man. Shot him point-blank in the head. Spat on his corpse. Either they’d kill me, or I’d shoot myself, I don’t care. He’d be dead.”

All coherency left Kakashi.

In its absence, he said… 

“Oh.”

He released Iruka, sat back on his heels, and draped his arms over his bent knees. There was a hesitation on the yakuza’s part as he tested Kakashi’s new intentions, but, finding that his once-bodyguard wasn’t moving any further, Iruka pulled himself up into a sitting position. With his back against the boxing ring, the other man rubbed at his bruised wrists, looking displeased at the marks.

A horrible feeling began to blanket Kakashi’s shoulders, a too-heavy cloak, a new burden. As it started to choke him, causing his throat to close up and his stomach seize, he finally distinguished it.

_Regret._

Iruka staggered to his feet without looking down at Kakashi. He was walking around him… He was headed to the back exit, surrounded in silence.

He was walking out of Kakashi’s life.

_After **that** confession?_

“Iruka, wait.”

The yakuza stopped – and glanced back at him. He was clearly not expecting Kakashi to drop down into a dogeza position, because even though Kakashi had his eyes closed and his face flat on the concrete, he heard Iruka give a little gasp and start forward, his sneakers squeaking on the floor.

Kakashi stumbled through his apology, tumbling into stammering towards the end.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said those things. I’m nothing, I’m nobody, I just – I just want –”

But then Iruka’s hands were on his shoulders, hauling him upward, and Kakashi was startled to have the yakuza pull him into his chest. Far too gently not to be deliberate, Iruka wrapped his arms around Kakashi, cradling him against his sweat-cooled spandex shirt. His lips were in Kakashi’s hair while his hands – they were bare for once, ungloved, his actual skin touching Kakashi’s – ran across Kakashi’s arms repeatedly, reassuringly.

“No, no, no,” Iruka was murmuring quietly. “You’re perfect. You inspire me, Kakashi.”

His name on his former boss’s lips, that was too much, just too much. The pills were still rolling through his system, but the beer was decreasing in its impact. The adrenaline of the whole thing was fading every second. He loved the way Iruka smelled – the scent of familiar lavender soap from his shower – it made Kakashi remember their first time together, the vivid extensive tattoos hidden under spandex, the way Iruka’s body had responded so eagerly to his touch, how Iruka once relished his adoration.

“Hey, don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

Kakashi didn’t understand what Iruka meant. He wasn’t –

Oh, he was.

“You make me want to be somebody, to do something other than submit,” Iruka was insisting as he pressed his lips on Kakashi’s hair on his blind side, down his scar, his cheek, his jaw, his chin. “I shouldn’t have let him control me. I’ve never said no to him. I… didn’t want him to hurt you.”

It was more obvious to Kakashi that Iruka was choking up, emotion overwhelming him. He looked up sharply and caught the man’s face with both hands. But the yakuza was already in tears, looking incredibly pitiful, wincing at his past actions, unable to handle what he had done.

“I’m so sorry, Kakashi. I failed you. I’m not strong like you. I can’t do any of this right.”

Instead of placating the other man with praise, Kakashi said the only thing that came to mind.

“Fuck me in the shower.”

Yeah, that instantly altered Iruka’s expression. The yakuza’s eyes went wide as his eyebrows rose. He blinked, absorbing the request. Visibly trying to reply with eloquence, Iruka only found enough ability to ask in an overly light tone, “Um… can you say that again? I… I think I misheard…”

Even though he could have said many other things, Kakashi stuck to his desperate desire, his longing need. He held onto the yakuza’s face and pled with him, his voice becoming hoarse, “I’m staying with you. Forever. Now fuck me in the shower. Show me that you love me.”


	14. Chapter 14

Kakashi was weak from the darkness in his life just as Iruka seemed fiery in his light.

A single beat passed as the yakuza stared back at him… and then Kakashi was tripping over himself as Iruka mercilessly dragged him into the showers. 

During the rushed movement, he could better feel the tears wet on his cheeks. As he started to wipe them away, Iruka shoved Kakashi against the cold concrete wall. Hallucinatory, hot kisses spread across his face and scar, a flash of tongue licking away his pain. Instinctively, he closed his marred eye to better see Iruka’s expression towards him: it was pure dark devotion.

And yet the man looked possessed by a vengeful god reappearing to settle debts. 

Unable or unwilling to drop Kakashi now that he had him again, Iruka was entirely too forceful as he resumed their trek to the showers, leading them both to the lockers. He didn’t even let go of Kakashi’s right arm when he broke into the locked compartment using a singular rough jerk of his other hand. It was impressive for about a second before Kakashi figured out what was going on.

_He keeps condoms and lube with him at all times?_

Jealousy spiked: Kakashi suddenly felt incredibly possessive. Had Iruka always done that - bringing those sorts of things everywhere? It couldn’t have just started when Kakashi became his bodyguard. … His boss was long accustomed to public sex after all. Admittedly it was safe sex, but still, it was public sex. The drug-foggy dream of jerking off to Iruka being fucked by other men reeled sickly through Kakashi’s thoughts, but now he stupidly altered it to be protected sex…

_Is that strawberry lube?_

Iruka pulled him across the locker room - but not to the shower. Instead, they arrived at a changing bench up a few feet from an enormous wall-sized mirror. The reflective material took up a startlingly large portion of the room, nearly twenty feet long and ten feet high. It was so embarrassingly like Gai to not imagine his customers would not want to see their naked bodies. Kakashi could practically hear his friend declaring in inspirational jubilation, “This way you can best see your successes!!” 

Instead of victory, Kakashi saw his own face and form for the first time in a long, long while.

He went still so suddenly that Iruka was forced to stop pulling him.

Shit. He looked terrible.

Somehow Kakashi had ignored the possibility of his alcohol-and-drug bender showing up on his flesh. But there was no denying it now: Kakashi had lost weight, a lot of it, leaving his face thinner, sharper, meaner. Dark clouds hung under his eyes, weirdly mutating the already harsh look of the left side of his face. His clothes were dirty, really dirty, like he’d gone dumpster diving and gotten covered in decaying filth. His eyes dropped down to his shoes; he found he’d automatically put on his old police boots, the ones he’d always worn while serving others.

He wore them when he worked for the force… and when he protected Iruka Umino.

Seemingly unaware of Kakashi’s literal self-reflection, the very same yakuza dropped to his knees in front of him. With energetic hands, Iruka did away with Kakashi’s jeans and boxers, crushing them down against the tops of his boots. There was a single, sharp, insane moment where Kakashi could plainly tell what was about to happen, and he tried to say, “No, Boss, don’t,” but the words went white and vacant at the same time as the world did, because -

As always, Iruka was indecent in his ability to take everything Kakashi could offer him… 

Including all of his cock at once.

A peculiar sound emanated from Kakashi; he barely recognized he’d made it. Instead, his wrecked gaze was fixed down on his yakuza boss, the man’s dark sweaty hair, the red flush on his brown skin. When his hands drifted towards Iruka’s facial scar, he physically startled as Iruka glanced up at him and took Kakashi’s shiny-wet cock out of his mouth, firmly holding him in one hand. 

In a smooth but increasingly vicious tone, Iruka announced while looking right up at him, “I know what you did the past two weeks.” 

The yakuza’s grip tightened around Kakashi’s erection. Shock saturating every inch of him, Kakashi immediately flinched but stayed in place. His boss’s intense gaze stayed on him, furious and devastating. 

Using equally incisive words, Iruka demanded from him:

_“Do you hate yourself?”_

It did not occur to Kakashi to lie. He sounded like he’d been throat-punched as he replied truthfully, feeling somehow totally full and absolutely empty, “Yes…” He swallowed. “For a long time now.”

Iruka’s entire appearance darkened. He stood up, causing them to be nearly eye to eye. Kakashi’s photographic memory replayed the many times they’d been this close: their first meeting and first kiss in Iruka’s office, in the shower when Iruka had washed him ever so slow and sweet, in the V.I.P. room when Iruka revealed his obsessive want.

Yet this particular time the yakuza had turned the hot passion and energy he normally threw at irritating subordinates towards Kakashi.

Sudden rage caused Iruka Umino to become an angry god yet again, all-powerful and unpredictable.

The yakuza stepped behind him and forcibly bent Kakashi forward, causing him to instinctively and obediently fall to his knees. Certainly, Kakashi saw it coming, but he wasn’t sure of Iruka’s intentions, so he let it happen. Instead of his hands dangling at his sides, Kakashi caught hold of the changing bench in front of him, shivered at the feel of cold metal under his palms. He chose deliberately not to look up at himself in the mirror; he didn’t want to see his reflection again, not with Iruka so upset with him.

Just as Kakashi considered apologizing for his self-abuse, thinking about dropping into the dogeza position again –

Iruka grabbed him by his hair and yanked upward, revealing the long line of Kakashi’s throat as well as his self-tortured expression in the massive mirror in front of them.

Somehow in the commotion, his boss had removed his spandex shirt, showing his yakuza tattoos. They stood out atop his flushed tanned skin: the white of the snow was blinding like in a blizzard, the pink of the roses soft and feminine, and the browns of the wintering goose bringing out every lovely color in Iruka’s complexion. Although Iruka always seemed like a confident predator, and only sometimes like a human with vulnerabilities, he now appeared caught in between and on edge.

… it felt far too good to be held so roughly by his hair.

“How can you hate this?” Iruka asked of him, his voice thick and flourishing in his anger. The yakuza’s left hand went around Kakashi’s side to lift up his threadbare shirt, exposing his refined abdominal muscles and the many diverse scars on his pale skin. 

At first, Kakashi thought that the other man was just being particularly vain, wanting him to appreciate the attractiveness of his nude body, but then he realized where Iruka was pointing. 

One specific spot.

The two-inch kitchen knife scar from the domestic violence incident, his last injury on the force.

Iruka’s lips brushed against Kakashi’s ear, making the skin turn stormy and electric. The man judged far too correctly in a furious, uncontrolled way: “You serve others and leave nothing for yourself.” 

The yakuza sounded like he was teetering on the cliffside of frenzy as he growled directly into Kakashi’s silver hair, “You have to be kinder to yourself. The world needs you to thrive. It needs you at your best.”

For some reason, Kakashi found himself breathing hard. His chest and torso were straining from more than just being held so ferociously by his boss and lover. Yet again he realized tears were pinpricking at the corners of his eyes. While he’d been holding his arms limp at his sides, Kakashi now reached up and tentatively covered Iruka’s hand over his last small scar on his ribcage. 

“… do you need me?” he whispered, wanting to know the man’s answer more than anything.

There was barely a second’s pause before Iruka twisted Kakashi’s head back, declared with absolute clarity and at a surprisingly loud level, “I need you _desperately_ ,” and then kissed him with a strength far beyond what Kakashi had thought him capable of.

Without any verbal warning, Iruka touched Kakashi’s most intimate place, his fingers slick with the strawberry lube. Although Kakashi was thrilled with the ongoing kiss, his body sung wild sweet dreams as Iruka began to open him up and make space for himself. Throughout it all, they were pressed together, oh so intimately: Iruka’s sweat picked up, his tattoos glowed in the bright light.

Iruka’s other hand suddenly dropped down, stroking Kakashi in time with his moving fingers. 

Abruptly it was difficult to breathe. 

Kakashi almost passed out. He could tell when he started to faint, because he fell forward and automatically held himself up against the changing bench. 

Unexpectedly, Iruka let him do so, taking obscene advantage of the new position. 

His fingers were gone, and –

“Kakashi, I love you,” Iruka said, shaking but sincere. “But you have to love yourself, too.” The man nearly choked on the words as he professed hoarsely, “You just have to.”

He didn’t give Kakashi any time to respond before he entered him for the first time.

Iruka was not slow about it, either. He wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t kind. 

Oh, but it felt so good, it was so exquisite, it bordered on perfect. Kakashi gripped the cold metal of the bench to keep himself stable, but it was Iruka sinking into him, connecting them together, that made him actually _feel_ stable. He’d wanted this – just this – exactly this – since he met Iruka. 

Now that it was happening…

Kakashi wished he’d done something to make it occur sooner. 

He could barely concentrate on his surroundings – just getting fucked – so wondrously fucked. Even with the complex smell of sweat and deodorant and cologne, there was also the perfumed promise of lavender in the air. The alcohol had faded out of his system, but the opioid was still going strong, making him looser than he should be, the discomfort less severe. 

In its place flooded pleasure. 

He could tell – so easily – so vividly – that Iruka really did love him. He’d thought that before, but now –

“Iruka,” Kakashi panted in between thrusts as he was pushed forward into the bench. Without a doubt, the yakuza became harder, thicker, at the use of his real name and not his hierarchical one. 

Delirium took over; Kakashi’s cleverness died outright. He was repeating “Iruka” every time the man drove into him, not a single coherent thought or any concern for his dignity in his overstimulated brain.

The repetition of his first name was making Iruka crazy.

More than ever, Kakashi sensed an overwhelming desire that had always been within the yakuza, well before they’d even met, the hunger and want that was for him, just for him, only for him. 

Not him as a broken-down collection of weaponry parts, interchangeable and disposable. 

Him – Kakashi Hatake, a full person, a scarred strong sensitive person –

The realization was sharp:

_Fuck, he’s loved me for years._

That **look** that Iruka had given him when they first met, the I-remember-you-from-childhood, I’ve-known-you-forever look, that was because Gai had talked about Kakashi, had praised him, had made Iruka curious, impressed, proud – 

There was that amazing remark Iruka had once made in the nighttime, “They did you wrong, you could have changed the world” – oh – oh, God – the man had always known Kakashi, he’d always loved Kakashi, he’d always wanted him to survive his self-hatred so they could –

Iruka’s right hand went to Kakashi’s cock just as his hips shuddered and he sank in to the hilt. The yakuza came so terrifically, breathing Kakashi’s name, that it shoved Kakashi close to the edge, causing his own hand to swing up and cover Iruka’s at the same time. 

The two of them brought him over into surreal, tumultuous pleasure. His peak was incredible. He saw white stars and magic constellations and Iruka’s tattoos moving fluidly, the dark-feathered bird flying across it all, the roses fluttering in the wind, the snow showering soft across the summertime landscape. He was still saying Iruka’s name like it was the only thing tethering him to reality, but he couldn’t even stay present, he was elsewhere in his wonder, in his –

“Fuck,” Kakashi muttered after a while, his forehead flat on the freezing bench. 

Still draped over him, Iruka was breathing noisily, unable to do anything except intake air in loud desperate gasps. Neither of them were ready for Kakashi to say something other than Iruka’s name – and even though profanity made sense for the situation – Kakashi’s next words rocked both of their worlds, shocking them both into brief stunned silence.

“Iruka - I love you. I love you, too.” 

The yakuza stayed atop him for a second, then pulled out. When Kakashi moved to see his expression, he found Iruka gazing in dazed wonder back at him.

But then Iruka grabbed Kakashi’s hand, his whole demeanor changing instantaneously. 

Overflowing with theatrical excitement, his boss gushed, his dark eyes delighted: “I’ve been planning something. You’re going to help me make it happen. You and me - we’re going to change everything.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Yeah, the Oyabun told me to monitor Iruka-sensei… what a drag.”

Kakashi was staring – just staring – at Shikamaru Nara, the sixteen-year-old Third in Command to the Sarutobi Family, as the boy explained why he was sitting behind Iruka’s desk, in Iruka’s chair. He’d been abandoned there only minutes earlier, with Izumo and Kotetsu waving a hasty goodbye as Iruka vanished in a cloud of cigarette smoke and not a single word of farewell. His body was sore from getting fucked and having nothing in him but the very last disintegrating remains of pills. 

He felt lost and confused, seeing Shikamaru again. The kid was sixteen; he said as much when Kakashi asked him in a dead-pan voice, “Why aren’t you in school?” Shikamaru replied tiredly, rolling his eyes, tilting back Iruka’s chair, “I graduated two years ago at fourteen. It was boring.” 

And the epiphany that this was the Third in Command: that came when Shikamaru’s black stare dropped to Kakashi’s figure, and he said, slow and contemplative, “Asuma-sensei said you’re cool…” He paused and then noted aloud, “If he gets killed, I take his place, as Second.” 

The kid’s dark eyes – damn, so much like Iruka’s, considering and critical, but more like icy tundra, not like burning fire – they had seen into Kakashi, into his scars, into his battered soul. The youth’s voice was the same, crisp frost on an autumn morning, as Shikamaru remarked, barely seeming like he cared about it at all, “He made me promise to keep you alive because you keep Iruka-sensei alive.”

Although sickness struck Kakashi, sick like the blurry-messy time he’d vomited in the shower and pulled out his hair, he stayed still and watched as Shikamaru fooled around with Iruka’s computer. He endured the silence; he said nothing. But he wasn’t needed to do anything except exist in place, because, after about a minute of efficient typing and clicking later –

“The Oyabun, you know – he’s worried about Iruka-sensei, too, because he wasn’t built for this.” Then there was a lazy shrug, like Shikamaru wasn’t sixteen, like _he_ was made for yakuza life. “It’s always trouble, ‘cause Iruka-sensei finds my cameras all the time… Like this one.”

Having already snatched it off the wall, Shikamaru again picked up a gnat-sized camera, pinching it between two fingers like he was rolling a cigarette. He considered it loosely, as if he didn’t care about it, but instead of flicking it away, the kid dropped it down into the crystal ashtray on Iruka’s desk. Shrugging again, Shikamaru stood up and pulled an actual cigarette from his suit jacket, patting down his pants pockets, carelessly looking for a match.

“I’ve gotta go smoke,” he said absently. “When I get back, I’ll check out the camera. See what’s happened these last two weeks.”

Then the kid breezed by Kakashi, not giving him a second glance. He closed the door on his way out, already going for his matchbook in his upper pocket. It was obvious the kid had known where the match was on his person, that he didn’t need to smoke that desperately, that Kakashi would –

He sat down in Iruka’s chair for the first time; he looked at the computer screen.

Shikamaru had set up the wireless connection to show what the camera had picked up.

The date – it was when Kakashi had been fired – when he walked home in his suit.

There was beautiful high-definition color film… Iruka Umino was nowhere to be seen. But his office was impeccable: it was just as they had left it before they went off to the Sarutobi compound. Even in the darkness, Kakashi knew this space, he knew its corners, he knew just where Iruka had kicked Kato-san and where they’d kissed for the first time and where he’d been gifted his eyepatch.

The one he’d crushed in his hands like a soft songbird, the one that had vanished when he’d cleaned up his apartment during his bender, high on pills and drunk on beer and high-proof vodka.

He pressed play.

It happened instantly: Shikamaru had prepared the tape to start just at the right time.

The door swung open and hit the door with such force that the expensive Edo Period framed scroll artwork shook on the wall.

Iruka appeared in a fury; he slammed the door shut. He wasted no time. His hands weren’t gloved as he grabbed hard at the antique mahogany bureau by the door. His suit jacket was gone; he was down to his white collared shirt. His tie had disappeared, too. He pulled at the bureau, once, twice, shaking the whole gigantic piece of furniture, until –

The enormous bureau, used for paperwork and Iruka’s suits, crashed down to the floor, breaking in several places, becoming a barricade for the office door.

Then Iruka turned around. 

He unknowingly faced Shikamaru’s camera hidden high on the wall behind his desk.

The yakuza wasn’t crying. No… no, he was flushed-red, his expression pure rage.

But… suddenly alone… the fallen furniture acting as protection from intrusion…

Iruka went to his desk. He shoved aside his chair, the chair Kakashi was now sitting in.

He dropped under the desk, sitting on the floor right away. Brought his knees to his chest. Crushed his face into his kneecaps. The audio was good: Kakashi could hear the first strangled sob, then the second. The video was just as high-tech, capturing Iruka as he began shaking, continued to be unable to keep himself still. There were sounds of his subordinates trying to break through the door, muffled shouts of ‘Boss-sama’ and “Boss-sama, please, c’mon!’ 

But Iruka was already in his own world: he was shaking wildly underneath his desk, he was sobbing these choking sobs, half-formed and uncomprehending. He wasn’t showing his face. But his hands were clearly in view as he reached up, pushing out the drawer, opening the secret back panel.

Kakashi was dizzy and dumb, sitting in just the same place. 

His boots were where Iruka had once been.

He watched his lover pull out a pistol in the past and hold it against his shins.

The shouts became more panicked outside the office: Kakashi could recognize Izumo in particular, trying to say something about, ‘Boss, don’t do this, you can’t do this’ and Kotetsu cursing so vulgarly that it made Kakashi’s heart give an ugly little flutter at the expert-level profanity.

But Iruka seemed to hear nothing. His hand was shaking as he held the pistol. His face was covered, shoved against his knees. The bureau shook by the office door as his yakuza underlings worked to break their way into the room. Iruka didn’t appear to notice; he stopped the malformed sobs. 

His fingers went still on the gun. His dark eyes emerged from the fine fabric. He stared down at the weapon with tears thick and running down his cheeks. He moved the gun, looking at it, the whole length of it, and –

The door cracked open, and Izumo snuck inside, yanking it further open, getting Kotetsu to come in after him. The two of them didn’t have to look far: they seemed to know where Iruka would be. Instead of rushing in, the two yakuza waved off the concerned horde outside the office and stayed in the area ahead of the desk. 

“He’ll be okay, Boss,” Izumo promised, his voice full like a glass of water overflowing.

“We’ll make sure of it,” Kotetsu followed up. His shoulders were tense. He remained close to Izumo, very close: the two were obviously lovers, of course they were, even now ardently sticking together. 

Iruka was still considering the pistol as if he couldn’t hear the pair of yakuza two feet away.

“He wouldn’t want you to –” Kotetsu tried to say, but the words became ash in his mouth, and the man failed to finish the statement, looking desperately down at the desk, unable to see his boss.

Izumo winced and swallowed the same ash. 

He was almost inaudible as he pled, aching, pained: “Please don’t hurt yourself, Iruka.”

The use of his first name brought Iruka out of his stupor. He glanced up towards the wall, he lowered the gun back against his shins. He shifted his gaze right towards the wall – where he’d kicked Kato-san, where he and Kakashi had brushed up against each other for the first time. 

Iruka stood up, his back towards the camera. He put the gun on the desk, the same desk that Kakashi was now sitting in front of… before he brought his arm to his face, covering his eyes, dampening the cloth with his tears. His voice was muffled but just barely able to be heard.

“He’s going to spiral, he’s going to – he’ll kill himself.”

Unable to stop himself, Kakashi smashed the fast-forward button. He was staring thoughtlessly as the video sped through time. Suddenly Iruka Umino was gone, as were the man’s former lovers, and the broken bureau built several centuries earlier. 

Then there was a newly purchased antique, a look-alike with the same varnish and in the same style, standing in its place by the door, as if the break-down had never occurred. 

Days passed with the bright overheard lights on, Iruka working ceaselessly soundlessly at the desk, sometimes laying his face down on the wood, always looking at nothing. Nights passed with only the small desk lamp eternally on, Iruka often not there, but a few times, there in the darkness, the yakuza boss sat alone in the chair bathed in the dim lighting, smoking a cigarette while dead inside, drinking vodka without ice or mixers out of a chipped crystal tumbler.

Then - there – there was –

Shit.

There was the man who Kakashi bought the opioid pills from. 

He was standing in Iruka’s office. Dyed blonde hair, dark rat-like eyes, brown leather jacket, torn blue jeans, shitty dulled-down grey-white sneakers. He didn’t belong in such a fine place, but –

Iruka was in one of his better suits. Its tailored brilliancy outshone the drug dealer’s image in every possible way. His brown hair was slicked down and back, kept high in a tight pony tail. He was chain-smoking; this was the third cigarette, the other two crushed into the crystal ashtray. 

They’d been talking, the two of them.

Kakashi played the tape with the encounter already well underway.

“ – he pays, he gets the stuff,” said the man who Kakashi had found in the streets, when he was desperate for relief and sought criminals not for justice but for hard street drugs, something to kill the rest of his insides, those last barely-alive parts of him. 

The dealer seemed simultaneously unimpressed with Iruka and yet very interested in the wealth of the office, raising his eyebrows at the nicer belongings in the room. 

In contrast, Iruka looked like he’d rediscovered a bad student and was readying to explode on him.

“You misunderstand me,” the yakuza said in a brittle, already-jagged-edged voice. “This is not a negotiation. Don’t go near him again.”

There was a sly, wide grin from the dealer: Kakashi remembered that, how the man had looked at him in the dark alleyway once he’d recognized he was interacting with an ex-cop fallen on hard times, someone who he could manipulate for more money, maybe blackmail at a later date.

“You misunderstand _me_ ,” the sleazy snide man repeated back. “I know who he is to you.” He stepped forward, tilted his head to the side, and showed most of his teeth while grinning like a wealthy bigshot hitting jackpot at the casino. “He said your name when he started to black out. Said it all sad, like he _knew_ you. Like he _missed_ you.” 

Iruka’s back was to the camera. Kakashi couldn’t tell his expression. 

But the yakuza didn’t move. His cigarette was motionless in his hand, slowly burning to ash.

The dealer’s dark eyes flashed like gold coins catching neon lights. 

“You fuck him, or he fuck you?”

A moment passed. A single, still moment. Kakashi wondered if the camera had died.

Then Iruka reached into his suit jacket, produced a pistol, and shot the man through the cheekbone straight into his skull, splattering the newly bought antique bureau with pink brain matter.

The dealer dropped to the ground, slumped about his disheveled leather jacket, blood gushing from the huge hole in his face, but –

But Iruka shot him several more times in almost the same place, obliterating the man’s head.

Kotetsu and Izumo, along with two other yakuza, appeared almost instantaneously: they looked in high alarm at the sight of their boss with a gun in his left hand and a dying cigarette in his right, with a near-headless homeless-looking man executed on the soft carpet floor by his fine shoes.

Kakashi hit fast-forward, not wanting to see the aftermath. He couldn’t keep up with the vision of Iruka Umino, who had been so cruel in their separation, leaving him to a taxi… how could that same man contemplate suicide after their divorce… how could that man coldly kill someone for Kakashi?

There was a child on screen.

Kakashi stopped the video again, filled with confusion.

The child was younger than ten, but Kakashi was shit with aging kids, so he couldn’t tell for certain if the boy was six or eight or ten. This was a child, not like Shikamaru at age sixteen, but… but a real, actual child… standing in a yakuza boss’s office… in the same spot where a man had been murdered.

But there weren’t any blood stains from the drug dealer’s death. No sign of his corpse, nor violence.

Instead, the boy was frustrated, frowning massively, as he stared at Iruka, who was crouched down in front of him, wearing perhaps his best suit, the glorious black pin-striped one with a striking forest-green tie that reminded Kakashi of Konoha, the shrine far away in the mountains.

“- not here?” the child was asking in a disappointed whine.

Iruka shrugged just slightly, smiling weakly, his expression hiding hurt. “He had to go away, Konohamaru,” he explained in a low, appeasing tone. “He doesn’t work here anymore.”

The boy – Konohamaru – named after the shrine…? – crossed his arms over his chest. He was in full-blown sulking as he slanted a truly upset glower towards Iruka’s desk. 

“That’s what Grandpa says when someone dies,” he muttered, but then Konohamaru suddenly shot a curious yet accusatory look at the increasingly surprised Iruka. “Is Hound-san dead? Did he die?”

Iruka’s entire expression went weird, there was no other way to describe it. He was usually quite good at holding back things when it was necessary, but this time, the yakuza’s dark eyes widened, and he looked like he’d been struck in the face with the butt of a rifle. He tried to open his mouth to force himself to answer, but nothing came out, and Iruka ended up looking uselessly at the boy. 

Konohamaru noticed something had changed. He wondered, high-pitched, “Iruka-sensei…?”

“Ah, no, Hound-san’s not –” Iruka stammered through his response, looking so thoroughly thrown by the question of Kakashi’s death that he couldn’t keep easygoing and serene. Instead, the yakuza glanced over towards his computer, moving his gaze from the keyboard to a smartphone. He went to stand - but then stopped himself, going down into a crouch and turning back to the boy.

“Hound-san is just fine, Konohamaru,” he said, audibly unstable and weak. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself and failing so miserably, he wanted to fade through the floor. “Hound-san doesn’t need to be with us anymore… Do you remember how I said he’s a good guy, like a real-life superhero? Well, since he saved my life the other day, now he’s out helping other people.” Iruka smiled in a terribly unpersuasive, sorrowful way; he brushed his hand repeatedly through Konohamaru’s hair. “I’m sorry you couldn’t meet him. He’s pretty much the best guy ever.”

Konohamaru’s pout could have destroyed whole cities with its might. He was staring holes into the carpet as he complained with childish bitterness, “Big Brother said Hound-san was really cool. Big-Big Brother said he’d teach me martial arts.” He frowned differently – this time it was a vulnerable, depressed frown – the child was totally unworried about Iruka’s reaction to his weakness – something so very foreign to Kakashi – and he admitted quietly, “I really wanted to meet him.”

Iruka nearly broke in tears; Kakashi knew _that look_ from the time in the shower. 

But the yakuza controlled everything in an instant. He was smooth as silk as he reached over and put out both hands in front of Konohamaru, attracting the boy’s attention. “I’ll learn a few new moves to teach you, how about that? I’m seeing my old friend soon. I’ll ask him for an awesome one, just for you. Then you can show off to Asuma - and kick Shikamaru’s butt, too.”

There was a little struggle on Konohamaru’s face: he clearly didn’t want to overcome his sadness about Kakashi’s absence, but then again…

“Yeah, that’ll be great, Iruka-sensei!”

The boy jumped into a full, encompassing embrace of the yakuza, absolutely untroubled by the world that he was growing up in. 

But Kakashi could see Iruka’s expression over Konohamaru’s small shoulder.

The man was holding back tears once again.

There was a polite knock on the door… Not on the tape! In reality. In the present.

Kakashi jerked his hand down to the tiny mite-sized computer, smashed his fist down on it, breaking it into pieces on the desk, and watched as the video wavered then vanished on the computer. The wireless connection died with the device, as expected, as Shikamaru suggested so idly earlier.

The very same young man slid in the door, pointedly looking back towards the foyer. In response, Kakashi was out of Iruka’s chair, stepped away from the desk, and went to a stationary sentry position in the center of the room. He deliberately did not look down at the floor to where Iruka had executed a man in cold blood one day and then hugged a young boy against his chest only a few days later. 

Iruka Umino floated inside his office past Shikamaru with a bright new bruise on his cheek. 

When Kakashi instinctively stiffened, the other man waved his hand dismissively, unable to repress a truly profound and glowing smile, meant for Kakashi but also literally anyone else around him.

“No, no, I deserved it,” Iruka announced, joy rolling through him. He patted his scarred cheek, touching the edge of the red-brown bruise by his dark eye. “I said I’d rather suck Akatsuki dick the rest of my life than live without you, which _was_ admittedly crude, but I think what really got him was when I said I’d burn down everything he owned if he ever separated us again.” 

Shikamaru snorted by the door, covering his mouth, and Iruka flashed him a spicy grin. 

“You can head home, Shikamaru. Asuma’s waiting for you by the shogi set.”

“Have fun, Iruka-sensei,” the young man drawled before giving a smart look to Kakashi. Then Shikamaru easily and wordlessly left the office, closing the door behind him again, leaving the two of them alone together.

Before Kakashi could combine what he just saw on the film – with this new self-satisfied rebellious version of Iruka – with his earlier understanding of the man, his yakuza boss – 

“Now,” Iruka strode up to him, tugging off his tie, pushing Kakashi against the desk. 

“About my plan…” 

_Damn those dark burning eyes._

Kakashi’s mind went blank as Iruka poured against him, breathing against his ear as he whispered hotly, “I’m going to fuck you while we go over the details.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Theycallthewind, EternalSurvivor, and salvadore in particular. Y'all deserve answers - and more indulgent details.
> 
>  
> 
> _____

For once in his life, Kakashi said no.

Iruka’s hands slowed to halt on Kakashi’s pants; he looked up in astonished disbelief. The look was so pitiful – a man turned down and defeated by his lover – but Kakashi wasn’t having it anymore. He caught the yakuza’s hands, forcing them off his jeans, and then silently led Iruka upstairs. 

The dark staircase served as a transition for them: he could feel Iruka trailing him, how the man stumbled a little, uncertain what was happening, and Kakashi sensed his old strength surging back through him.

The cleverness that had gone stale and stagnant after Rin’s death.

The sharp strategizing that had been taken away by the police force when they tossed him aside.

The ability… no, the capacity to act for himself… to be in control of his own destiny.

Firmly physically placing Iruka ahead of him, Kakashi closed the bedroom door behind them. As he turned around to study the yakuza, he finally saw Iruka Umino as the man really was. It was as if he was pulling aside dark heavy curtains of fantasy, love, and lust and seeing the figure behind it at all. 

Iruka was young: he was only twenty-two. He didn’t look boyish in his suits or with extensive colorful tattoos, but Kakashi knew better, having absorbed the distant but important details of Tenzo’s investigation. For example, now he knew that when the Sarutobi Head brought him back to serve the family, Iruka would have been just twenty-years-old, only four years from an act of arson.

Iruka must have swept into the role, taking to the expensive suits and yakuza tattoos like they were elements of a disguise. He treated the finery, smoking, hair, clothes, weaponry, and training as essential and integral components to impersonate a branch boss of the Sarutobi group. He’d been practicing with Maito Gai not because he enjoyed the sport: Iruka had looked furious through the session, desperate to prove himself and grow stronger, but he had resorted to guerilla techniques, knowing he was never going to be able to beat Gai in a decent, honorable fashion. 

The put-on cunning predatory attitude came with the performance: Iruka kept it cool in front of his men, but his explosive wrath betrayed insecurity and fear. He became cold when he needed, but it was unnatural to Iruka, and he clearly did not like doing it. When the man slashed Makoto’s throat, he did so to prove himself to the Akatsuki, not because he wanted to end the other yakuza’s life. 

More significantly, his private bouts of depression after showed the truth of things… Iruka Umino was still becoming a yakuza. Right now… he was only semi-expertly play-acting as one. 

This was all one big act of theater for a young man with murdered parents and a troubled past.

“Did you check the room for bugs while I was gone?” Kakashi asked, short and simple.

Looking terribly flustered, Iruka stared at him… but then finally shook his head in negative. 

Yeah… yeah, that was just added fuel to the fire that was the reality of the situation. Kakashi placed this new piece of information on top of all the other things he’d learned in the last few weeks. He gestured for Iruka to come searching through the bedroom with him; they worked in tandem, overturning every little thing and even the larger furniture, rummaging under the mattress and brushing the corners of the ceiling for cameras and microphones. There wasn’t anything. 

Kakashi turned around to face Iruka and inquired, needing to know, not wanting the answer:

“Did Kotetsu and Izumo sleep with you the last two weeks?”

Iruka’s dark eyes stayed wide in surprise. He looked unsettled; he seemed to start blushing. “No,” he murmured, visibly embarrassed by the further realization that Kakashi knew his sexual history. “They were downstairs. I was… I slept alone.”

It took a lot of restraint for Kakashi not to smash his hand to his face – or shake his head back-and-forth in frustration – but he just managed to hold himself in check.

Addressing Iruka, slow and careful, Kakashi tried to explain just why that hadn’t been a great idea, considering the current situation: “You went to an Akatsuki family business, killed one of their yakuza, lost your main bodyguard, and slept alone without checking for any surveillance.”

As the dawning recognition of his foolishness crashed down on him, Iruka could only step backwards and sit on the edge of the bed, still staring wide-eyed at Kakashi. He blinked a few times and then glanced down, surveying the floor as if it could clarify why he wasn’t dead yet. 

Feeling worn-down by how careless _he’d_ been, Kakashi joined the other man, sitting close to him but keeping enough distance to not become too distracted. Exhaustion was smoothing out some of the edges of his epiphany, but he couldn’t stop himself from realizing – yet again – that they really _had_ been playing this whole thing incredibly loose and fast.

Ultimately, they were just two young men juggling power and violence, sex and death.

Sure, Kakashi had his scars – and so did Iruka – but…

“You make me so stupid,” Kakashi admitted, laughing softly in incredulity at the truth of it. “I’ve been obsessed with making you happy. I never thought to question you. I just wanted to serve.”

He wasn’t sure how Iruka would respond, but he was trying to channel Konohamaru’s unfiltered honesty… Izumo and Kotetsu’s bewildering and jealousy-inducing intimacy… Iruka’s passion.

Kakashi was not expecting Iruka to burst out laughing beside him. He turned to stare at the other man and found Iruka actually wiping away tears from his eyes. While Kakashi watched in amazement, Iruka in turn looked him up-and-down with his scarred-and-bruised expression both skeptical and marveling at the same time. 

Iruka sounded like he’d been ambushed by absurdity as he announced in return, “You feel stupid? I’ve been intimidated by you for _years_.” He laughed again, pulling off his undone tie and throwing it aside. “You have no idea what you look like to other people, do you?” Iruka wondered aloud. His mystified smile was strangely heart-stopping. When Kakashi shook his head negatively, he felt like he was falling back to Step Zero, where he was lost in the wilderness of Yakuza Life –

Still laughing freely, Iruka slapped a hand over half his face, obscuring the bruise the Sarutobi Head had given him. “Oh, Kakashi,” the yakuza declared. The use of his name unintentionally stirred up butterflies in Kakashi’s stomach. He couldn’t help but stare in innocent surprise as Iruka lowered his hand and smiled warmly. “You are this crazy badass man. You’re so cool through everything.”

Uh… no, that was not what Kakashi was expecting to hear.

Iruka shifted his gaze to the teak liquor cabinet, his smile becoming truly flustered-fond, like he was talking about a Korean-boy-band crush on social media. “You’ve got an amazing facial scar from being a heroic policeman… Your tragic backstory makes hardened criminals gossip and swoon.” He laughed once again, but it had become bitter. “You show up to an office full of yakuza like you aren’t afraid to die. You don’t flinch away from me. You do everything perfectly.” 

Shaking his head disbelievingly, Iruka started to fidget with his fingers. He was tracing down where there should have been calluses, where there was instead just smooth skin. He continued on, avoiding Kakashi’s unchanging confounded stare, “You knew just what to do with Mizuki. I could barely contain myself, I felt like I was going crazy! I wanted to smash a sake bottle in his face, I even spit on him! But you - you held your ground, like you’d been in the situation a thousand times.” 

That’s not how Kakashi remembered it… Back then, in the _Stray Kitties_ stripclub, he had felt out-of-place, thrown by Iruka’s loud denunciation of the other yakuza. He’d been desperately trying to keep steady through the whole thing. He wanted to get Iruka home, to keep the man safe, to stay out of danger, but Iruka had been so aggressive defending himself and correcting the record…

“And later, oh my God, later,” Iruka groaned, a heavy blush flying to his scarred-bruised face. “I was so angry with how childish I’d behaved, but you were so cool. You didn’t worry about your suit, you just got in the shower, you were so focused on washing me.” The yakuza laughed again, still sounding shocked even after all the time that had passed. “I can’t tell you how much I wanted you, but you were unreadable – and untouchable – but then I couldn’t hold back anymore, and I kissed you and made you touch me.”

… That was… That was sort of true. Iruka _had_ made the first move, but Kakashi hadn’t interpreted it as an act of desperation or loss of self-control. He’d been so elated by it, by Iruka’s insistence that they finally do something together, that they relieve the sexual tension between them.

But apparently Iruka recalled things differently. The yakuza scratched under his scar on the cheek opposite the bruise and commented very quietly, barely able to confess anymore, “You said I could do anything to you, that you could ‘handle it.’ You practically ordered me to face-fuck you.” Iruka’s blush deepened considerably, making his scar and the bruise stand out differently. “I have _never_ imagined anyone saying that to me, let alone _you,_ the most impressive man I know. And you did that sort of thing all the time – just – so easily – with such composure!” 

Kakashi could see what Iruka was saying… He could see how other people, how Iruka, might have differently perceived the same situation where he'd felt thrown and flabbergasted, awash in the tsunami of life. 

He felt himself blush when Iruka added hoarsely, not looking at him, “Like our first time together... You were unbelievable – that was the best sex of my life.”

Suddenly Iruka’s hands became fists in his lap. His confession became darker when he spoke again.

“You stared down Kisame like he wasn’t terrifying. You didn’t blink when you saw Itachi. You were going to tell me his real identity right away, twenty feet from him; you just didn’t care about the consequences, you were that confident – and then you saved my life five seconds later.”

The young yakuza’s voice had dropped to a low melancholic depth as he sighed through the final part, “I would have died if you weren’t with me. My students would be lost in this mad underworld. You are _so_ cool, Kakashi. You make me _crazy_. I can’t keep up.” Iruka was nearly whispering, his words dissipating into thin air as he breathed out, “I want to be strong like you.”

For some reason, Kakashi could only come up with one rebuttal:

“But you call me Hound-san,” he protested, then persisted, not really liking the sound of the admission, but forcing himself to say it anyway. “Because I’m your obedient dog.”

Looking immensely startled, Iruka turned his head sharply and leaned towards him at the same time. “What? Where did you get that idea from?” he countered, sounding positively astounded by Kakashi’s suggestion. “I call you Hound-san because dogs are better than people.”

_Huh. What now._

“You don’t serve me, Kakashi. My life has changed to revolve around you. Everything I’ve done since you became my bodyguard – it’s because you make me want to be better, to go out, to do something good while still being a yakuza.”

_Eh… That’s not… That’s not true._

_Is it?_

Ever so gently, Iruka placed his hand on Kakashi’s knee and dug in his fingers a little. His heartfelt expression softened even further as he clarified in a rough tone, “Before you came along, I was angry half the time and scared the rest. I never left this building. I spoke on the phone to people. I did paperwork. I delegated.” He smiled self-deprecatingly and glanced away from Kakashi, seemingly embarrassed by himself. “When I was younger, I wanted attention so badly that I broke into people’s houses, stole their things, and sold them. I was desperate to impress the other street kids. One day I was dared to break into the Sarutobi compound. I was scared, I didn’t want to go, but they said I was a coward, so I went.” 

Iruka paused, looking increasingly tired by his own memory. He sounded distant like he had travelled back in time, like he was standing in the ancient building complex six years earlier. “Asuma caught me; he asked me what I was after. I couldn’t say ‘a reason to live,’ so I tried running away, but I accidentally knocked the cigarette out of his mouth, and his bedroom caught on fire.”

His hand fled Kakashi’s knee. Iruka began looking at his palms once again, as he done before in the car after killing Makoto, deeply investigating his own agency and existence. “Shikamaru was asleep in the back, Asuma went after him, but he’s huge, he couldn’t get into the room when the support beams fell… I could, though. I got Shikamaru out.”

Iruka sighed, long and exhausted. He rubbed at his scar and winced when he hit the new bruise. He sounded equally sore as he concluded, “They let me go with the promise I’d keep out of trouble. I did… I just barely managed to graduate high school.” 

Shrugging, Iruka sped through the rest, in an almost-singular rush of sentences: “When I was eighteen, I started an at-risk youth program and taught drop-outs what they missed in class. I saw Shikamaru again; he was skipping school a lot. He said Asuma was his sensei, not ‘boring old teachers.’ He started calling me Iruka-sensei, and then everyone did, too. That’s where I met Gai. He told me all about you.”

The idea was hard to digest: could they really have met before this? under different circumstances?

“But, before you and I could meet, doctors gave Hiruzen only a short time to live – an old yakuza injury catching up with him – so they called me in. Asuma wanted an outsider to support Shikamaru and Hiruzen’s grandson, Konohamaru… teach them real things, not just the yakuza way of life.” 

Looking absolutely done with his monologue, Iruka clearly forced himself to summarize his whole life story, his voice becoming dry and drained: “I became a favored son; I’m an orphan with a new family. I’ve gotten Shikamaru and Konohamaru out of a few bad spots, as well as a lot of the other yakuza. It’s really awful, how badly they’re educated, their childhood traumas, their lack of life goals. I don’t run my youth intervention program anymore… because I’m doing that with yakuza now.”

Before Kakashi could say a word in the face of a hundred different new pieces of information, Iruka flung himself back on the bed. With one weak hand, he pushed on Kakashi’s side, emotionally fatigued from proverbially spilling his guts. 

“Now you talk. It’s your turn. Tell me all your secrets.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kakashi backstory + Iruka badass = moving ever closer to the finale.
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> ____

Kakashi didn’t know what to say.

He thought Iruka knew everything about him: the man certainly acted as if he did. Without a doubt, the teacher-turned-yakuza used observation and research to the benefit of some and the detriment of others. Throughout their time together, Iruka had behaved coolly, more composed than he should have been, for either his young age or limited experience. His dark dangerous eyes had damned Kakashi as much as his beautiful tattoos; the scar on his face and on his back had pulled Kakashi right down into the depths of Hell.

He really hadn’t looked back that much… to who he was before.

There was nothing to be gained, thinking about his seven years on the police force. Kakashi felt all of his twenty-five years – simultaneously young, like Iruka, but also bone-weary old. As he stared down at the other man, who looked up at him as if this were a slumber party and not a life-changing scene of confession, Kakashi was struck by how Iruka seemed to surprise him at every opportunity, even now.

He wanted to do the same.

This time, Kakashi wanted to surprise Iruka Umino… yakuza boss, rehab sensei, juvie criminal.

“I was a delinquent in high school,” he suddenly admitted, watching Iruka’s scarred expression.

Pleasant surprise swam through his veins as Iruka nearly jolted out of bed in response. The man looked much more his age while studying Kakashi’s form like he could spot the old rebelliousness. His smile was wide and mischievous as he encouraged Kakashi to continue, “Tell me about it.”

_God, he… he really does want to know._

Sitting on the corner of the bed, Kakashi shrugged his shoulders and gestured loosely at nothing. “Oh, you know, the usual,” he explained, feeling faint rising embarrassment. “I skipped classes. I spent a lot of time on the roof, reading books.” He paused, recalling the many times that Maito Gai had found him, napping in the sun, erotic literature shading his face. Thinking about another familiar scene from his adolescence, he added a moment later, “I got into fights a lot.”

Iruka smile turned into one of cheeky admiration. “I’m sure you did. Let me guess,” the yakuza posed, his eyes fixing on Kakashi’s with rocketing intensity. “You lost your virginity to the school nurse.” 

Kakashi’s eyes widened, a blush flying to his cheeks.

Looking quite pleased that his deduction was correct, Iruka lowered back down to the bed, propping himself up just slightly on his elbows. He looked knowingly at Kakashi and remarked, “Gai probably challenged you all the time, but you always acted cool, like you two weren’t friends at all.” 

Kakashi winced at that one.

_He’s got me there, too._

“The real question isn’t high school, though,” Iruka said, his voice smooth but sounding increasingly sharper, like he was arriving at something he’d always to know. “What was it like being with the police? What were you like?”

The physical pain from the question was alarming: it felt as if Iruka had slit his throat like the yakuza bodyguard in the Akatsuki stripclub. Not able to immediately answer, Kakashi took a second to control his breathing, keep his heart steady, and relax his muscles – all of which had strayed violently from the calm of a moment earlier. But Iruka was patient in the frustrating awful way of a teacher waiting for a student’s response; he just watched as Kakashi slowly took his time to respond.

“I enjoyed it,” he managed to say. 

Memories from his photographic recall flickered like segmented scenes from TV and film clicking across his brain. There were cat rescue missions, pulling fluffy tabbies out of trees; there were apartment fires, where he’d pulled children out of black smoke; there were hostage situations, where Kakashi took the final shot, ending the standoff and saving countless lives; there were robberies solved and murderers brought to justice and serial killing sprees ended.

He could picture Tenzo in his two years on the force, how the younger man looked towards Kakashi with aspirational hope, awe, and wonder. 

There was the late evening shift where Tenzo, still in uniform, met Kakashi in the locker room, and he explained that being a police officer was making him into something he didn’t want to be and couldn’t be anymore and he was so sorry, senpai, but _I’m resigning and I think I’m starting a private investigator agency, what do you think? do you think I’ll be successful…?_

Just the same twisted feeling in his gut occurred as he thought about his own first year, when he and Obito had been sent into an abandoned building, looking for someone attacking strangers. They were both eighteen, young, green; they were still in a power struggle, where Kakashi acted above their friendship, and Obito was sulky and striving for recognition from everyone. The greasy-haired addict had flown out of the shadows like a banshee, and Kakashi shielded Obito from the sharp little knife that instead sliced open his face and slid across his eyeball. The few seconds of Obito realizing Kakashi’s secret appreciation of him – those had been as ugly-hot, raw, and bloody as his wound – but it was barely ten minutes later when Obito sustained his own horrendous injury that fractured whatever friendship had been hiding below the surface between them. 

Obito’s forced desk duty as a disabled officer, and his subsequent fuck-you-I’m-quitting, had come at the worst time for Kakashi. He could still remember balancing on the back of his heels, watching the sunrise on his balcony, having slept not a second, his brain buzzing dull from pain medication and his liver filtering hard liquor. He leaned on no one at all; he pushed aside pleas from Rin, Gai, others.

But he went back. He served again. He cut off the fatty sentimental parts of himself. 

He worked with Itachi Uchiha – took a bullet for him – arrested and killed criminals with him. 

He worked with Rin here and there. Her eyes followed him with concern even when they weren’t working together. She was still in contact with Obito, trying to console him, keep him safe and sound. She and Kakashi spoke very little about what had happened, what went wrong, how things were somehow worse for Obito when he was the more passionate of the two of them, and he should have been Police Chief one day, not Kakashi, who was rising in the ranks no matter his young age and mostly-blind eye, his soul sold and his heart gone cold.

Eight months ago, he and Rin were out on a routine call, and they had run into Obito. He and Kakashi fell into arguing right away. Apparently, Rin had been desperately trying to keep Obito from losing it, but their fallen friend had become ever more distant with her and the world. 

Now, in the dark of an alleyway, he was pontificating about how he’d destroy the police – and all the different yakuza families – and rewrite the history of the city, maybe humanity even – and everything would be fine again, things would be good, they would be great.

Kakashi said, “I’m taking you in. You need a psych eval,” like he himself didn’t need a psych eval.

Obito pulled a gun.

Rin gasped.

Kakashi trained his Glock on his former friend.

He shot first, trying to do the right thing.

It was the wrong thing.

Rin jumped in the way; she took the bullet near her throat.

Obito’s half-mutilated face went pale with horror; he ran away as Kakashi ran to Rin.

There were those words on her lips – just what was she saying? What could she say?

Could… could her words have made it better? Explained Obito’s descent into madness? Helped Kakashi figure out what to do next, with her dead, and their ex-partner somewhere painting his soul pitch-black?

There was no denying it – he had killed his partner in friendly fire. He didn’t say Obito was there. His world was radio-static for months as he watched the sun rise and set, rise and set, rise and set. There was liquor, but no pills, not that again. He ate so little. But then he started exercising again - alone, of course. He contemplated what weapons do, what they were good for. He stared at his handguns every day and every night.

Iruka Umino had looked interesting from a distance. His silhouette was slick, black, crisp, clean. He had been speaking to a blonde-haired young man with high interest, having suddenly forced his car to stop in the street and pull up to the sidewalk. 

The yakuza boss was halfway out the window, nearly scolding the youth, giving him rapt attention –

Ah, his attentiveness intrigued Kakashi.

_Could someone look at me like that?_

… right now, Iruka was staring at Kakashi with dark eyebrows raised and black eyes watering. 

“I’m sorry,” Kakashi muttered. He’d disassociated, overwhelmed by memories. Embarrassment chased him through the shame of his past, and he ended up unable to return Iruka’s troubled gaze.

He didn’t know how to respond when Iruka placed his hand on Kakashi’s knee. Throat so tight he felt choked, Kakashi stared at the floor, desiring any possible escape from this horrible moment.

It was predictable but still unexpected when Iruka brought Kakashi into a gentle but fully encompassing embrace. 

Although he could have pressed Kakashi for more information about his police years and deeply cut into Kakashi about Obito and Rin, instead Iruka let it go entirely. He seemingly realized that some secrets were meant to be more organically confessed, and that pushing Kakashi any further might break him. Instead of living up his reputation, Iruka comforted Kakashi, easing him down from his clearly nightmarish flashback of the past seven years and the strange horrors he’d seen.

But in Kakashi’s vulnerability – Iruka was ruthless and dug in his claws like the panther he could be.

“You called me a whore,” the other man suddenly said against Kakashi’s ear, his fury icy and burning.

Kakashi could not stop himself from tensing everywhere at once. Realizing he was trapped in Iruka’s arms, he instinctively held himself perfectly still. It was very difficult to ignore the instant comparison in his head of a prey animal going limp caught in the jaws of a vicious predator.

_Of course he’d bring it up again. It’s the worst thing I could have said._

_… I purposefully hit him where it would hurt the most._

_Shit._

Iruka’s voice was jagged and sharp like shards of broken glass.

“Do you know _why_ they say that about me?” 

Forcing himself to respond, Kakashi shook his head negatively. He simply could _not_ out-loud admit what he heard, what he thought he knew. 

Instead… he tried to remember Iruka was not actually as lethal as he was presenting…

But then again – Iruka had killed at least two men in the last month.

“I didn’t understand the rules,” the teacher-yakuza breathed, deadly and dark, into Kakashi’s silver hair. His lips ran rampant on Kakashi’s skin as he huffed out a bitter laugh. “She was sweet on me; I just wanted attention.” Kakashi knew the woman in question, the sex-worker that Iruka had been seen with, his face buried between the woman’s thighs. “And Mizuki – I was so stupid – I thought we were friends. We’re the same age, so it was like something I never had, like a high school crush. But you saw the consequences of that, didn’t you?”

Kakashi found himself moving without thinking: his hand came to rest on Iruka’s back, on the scar. While he was gone, the stitches must have been taken out. During their sex earlier in evening, Kakashi hadn’t been able to see the landscape of Iruka’s back tattoo or his healed wound…

Now he wanted to see it.

Desperately.

But Iruka wasn’t done talking. His voice was suddenly lower, colder, more brittle.

“You called me a whore, Kakashi.” 

His name was spoken with the same force as the knife shoved into Kakashi’s face years earlier.

Iruka continued, filled with frost, so cold it burned, “Why? Did you think I spread my legs for anyone who said something sweet to me?”

Kakashi looked down to his hand on Iruka’s suit jacket. He saw his fingers trembling. 

Iruka’s voice was borne of cold flat steel as he declared remorselessly, “I wanted them… so I had them. I was stupid for falling in love, but I’ve never let anyone take me in my life.”

The implication was just there, hinting at the edge of Kakashi’s vision like a ghost going through walls.

_Has he… never… been the bottom for anyone… until me?_

Abruptly, there was distance between them, and Iruka was staring at him from inches away. His eyes weren’t just watering anymore; tears were curling down his scarred cheeks. But his expression was in fantastic contrast, full of rage and disappointment and sick self-pride.

“You probably think Kotetsu and Izumo took turns with me.”

Before Kakashi could even blink, Iruka was shaking his head, his lips curling in disgust. He spat out, “They all do, imagining my two bodyguards fucking me at the same time.”

Then his eyes narrowed, and Iruka’s hand was firmly gripping Kakashi’s cheek, the one with the terrible injury. His voice was remarkably hard, even as his scarred facial features were soft and sad.

“So I slept with my friends. You know what? At least they didn’t stab me in the back afterward.”

Kakashi could see Kotetsu and Izumo in his mind’s eye, their desperate attempt to break into Iruka’s office after Kakashi had been forcibly fired and Iruka was fixating on a handgun under his desk. He saw them in _Stray Kitties_ , outside _The Phoenix_ and _The Springtime of Youth._

Admittedly… he had thought about them taking Iruka, the yakuza in the middle of his bodyguards.

But he realized now, without Iruka needing to go into detail, that he’d been wrong - and, really, so had everyone else.

Iruka Umino was full of fear, but he spread fear. He was a man not meant for this profession, but yet, now that he was here, he filled in the broken parts of himself with fire and ash and passion.

Kakashi kissed Iruka.

It was one of the only times he’d initiated a kiss. He was careful about it, unlike all the times before.

Iruka was stiff, rigid, unyielding – for just one second, then two – before he melted in Kakashi’s arms, sighing weepingly into the kiss, his tension dissolving into the silence of the bedroom.

When Iruka finally lifted his shaky gaze, Kakashi said quietly:

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that… I wanted to hurt you.”

Always so surprising, Iruka didn’t reject Kakashi nor did he stay silent in response, both things that Kakashi might have himself done if in the same situation.

Instead, Iruka’s shoulder slumped further down. He leaned into Kakashi, closing his eyes and tucking his head under Kakashi’s in a near-replica of what he’d done after his nightmare. 

He was almost soundless as he admitted lowly, like a broken-hearted boy, “You did hurt me.”

Kakashi gathered up all his courage and kissed Iruka’s cheek several times, slowly making the other man look up at him. Tears were still threatening to fall from his dark eyes, but Iruka bravely held himself in check. They looked at each other for what felt like forever and a day - but was more likely only a few emotionally weighted seconds.

After further situating yakuza in his lap, Kakashi stroked away the wet from Iruka’s scarred face and suggested with earnest sincerity, thinking again about Iruka’s barely-mentioned master plan,

“Now - how can we save your students from the Akatsuki?” 

Iruka’s whole countenance darkened as his compassion and intellect crushed out the last of his emotional disarray.

“Their names are Naruto and Sasuke.”


End file.
